


All for the Fun of It

by theressomanyusernames



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow beginning, just trust me on this one guys, not very shippy this is just a warning, there is erisol in chapter 6 and from there it just kind of picks up, trollcops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 77,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theressomanyusernames/pseuds/theressomanyusernames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 7th, 1964 is a quiet day in the small town of Skaia. That is, until Kurloz Makara turns up face down in the creek behind the church. That’s when things get to be a lot more interesting for one Ms. Terezi Pyrope and her unfortunate acquaintance, one Mr. Sollux Captor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. JUST(1C3) L1K3 TH3 MOV13S

You started going around with Sollux first out of convenience, or perhaps a mutual distaste for religious authority. Sin is much better when it’s shared, after all. Any amateaur sinner would know that. You like to think, though, that your church skipping has fostered a little bit more than mutual tolerance between the two of you. You might be batshit crazy, but you swear that you could sense a bit of warmth in his demeanor on these sunny sunday mornings. After all, he did once say, “Terezi Pyrope, it would be a damn privilege to go to hell with you.” You like to think that was his way of expressing friendship.

 

He’s kind of funny sounding, Sollux is. You don’t quite know what he looks like, being blind and all, but you could sense his voice from a mile away. It’s nasally and he can’t say the ‘s’ sound right. Generally, it is a repulsive sound, but you’ve come to love it as something so distinctly Sollux-ish.

 

He tells you that you’re lucky to have no vision, because he seems to think he’s pretty ugly. You can’t imagine he’s that bad, though. He let you feel up his face one time, and he seems to have thin, normal features. He’s short and all, but nothing unforgivable. In fact, he comes just about up to your forehead. The thing he really seems to hate are his eyes, because apparently they’re two different colors: blue and green. Not that that means anything to you, or that anyone could probably see them behind his ridiculously thick glasses. God, if you didn’t know what blind was, you’d swear that he was! He tells you that you’re pretty, though. You guess that’s nice to know.

 

“We should take the path into the woods,” Sollux says casually, “it’s nice out today.”

 

Usually the two of you would go to the general store or get an ice cream before church was supposed to let out, but today must look especially nice to him. You sure know that it feels nice out; you’re wearing your favorite sundress. You’ve heard that too much sun could make you sick, but you don’t care. Since you can’t see, you think you better collect as many good feelings as possible. When something really good comes along, like the taste of cherry popsicles, or the smell of Vriska Serket strawberry perfume, or even the sensation of the summer sun beating down on your bear arms, it makes you feel thankful that you’re blind. Some things are too good to be ruined by seeing it.

 

“Certainly,” you reply enthusiastically.

 

Your friend takes your arm in his, reminding you of some British couple in the Victorian era taking a walk through their courtyard. For a small moment, it’s fun to pretend that you are.

 

“Oh Sir Captor,” you muse, faking an accent, “what a jolly fine day for a walk through the garden.”

 

You hear him do a small, breathy laugh. “Only the best for one Madame Pyrope.” You admire his attempt at an accent, but it’s just a little painful. You decide that it’s time to stop pretending. When you want to play pretending games, you have friends like Dave and Aradia. Even shy little Tavros or Nepeta Leijon are fun to role play with every once in a while. However, you remind yourself that your relationship with Sollux is only to stay within the parameters of reality. 

 

You ask, “Do you think the cherry tree still has any fruit on it?” On nice summer days, you like to go with a friend to eat fruit off the trees or wade around in the creek. It reminds you of a book that your sister once partially read with you; Walden, you think it’s called. You thought it was a nice book and all, but a little too profound for you. You think if you had to live in the woods you would prefer to do so with a dear friend. Being alone for too long has the tendency to make you just a bit sad.

 

“Sounds great,” he says, guiding you over a fallen log that you know means you’re on the path that leads to the creek and the cherry trees. Thankfully, he takes your hint and lets up on the British accent. The thing about Sollux is you don’t have to tell him stuff like that, he just knows. Your former best friend Vriska Serket always goes a little too far with jokes, or draws out topics just a little too long.

 

“You know,” you begin, “I think if God cared that much about skipping church he wouldn’t these days so nice all the time. I’d think if it mattered to him he’d at least have the good grace to smite us with lightning or something.”

 

“Eh,” he responds, “I’ve never seen God as the real smiting type. After the whole Jesus thing I think he’s pretty much let us figure it out for ourselves.”

 

You smile. He’s always the type to get weirdly philosophical without even realizing. You were just joking, but he took you seriously. It’s a little bit endearing. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

 

“Woah, watch your head,” Sollux says, ducking under a stray branch.

 

Of course you’ve never seen the woods behind the church, but it’s one of your favorite sounds. There’s always robins singing in the summer. It’s strange how they can sing back in forth in such perfect pitches, perfect harmonies. Sollux never gets it, but you’ve heard two robins carry on with each other, just a perfect half-step apart for hours. It’s beautiful, it really is. You love the smell, too. The smell of wood and sap and ripening fruit. Sollux’s allergies leave him with a perpetually stuffy nose and blocked ears, so he doesn’t see the woods the way you do. You think that nobody quite does, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When you hear a bird call, you hum a little tune back. People tell you that you have a lovely voice, but you just like to sing for fun.

 

“You know that they’re singing because they want to have sex, right?” Interrupts Sollux.

 

“I don’t care,” you say, and then continue humming. “We’re close to the creek?”

 

He responds, “Mhmm. You know, I really wish you could see squirrels. I swear, they’re the dumbest looking things.”

 

Happily, you say, “Describe them to me.” You continue to quietly hum along to the tune of the robins.

 

“They’ve got these dumb bushy tails that are bigger than them. And they’re always rushing somewhere, like up a tree. They’ve got these big beady eyes like you think they’re going to jump at you if you move towards them, and they’re always chewing on nuts that they forget to dig up in the spring-”

 

“That’s how forests grow.”

 

You sense him nod. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

 

“I wish I could catch a squirrel,” you say dreamily. You know that the creek and the cherry trees must be close because the ground is getting softer under your feet. 

 

“Tavros Nitram caught one one time,” Sollux explains, “Me and KK were by the school with him and we turned our backs for one minute, next thing you know he was holding a stupid squirrel. I swear, he’s like the domestic animal whisperer. In a weird way, he actually kind of looks like a squirrel. I can’t explain how.”

 

“I’ll have to get him to catch me one. I’d pay him for it.”

 

“Nah, he wouldn’t,” says Sollux, “He’s really big on letting ‘em go afterwards. He just likes to hold ‘em for a mi-” Sollux brings the two of you to an abrupt stop.

 

“What?” you ask, “Are we here?” That’s the only thing that could be happening, but it doesn’t smell like running water and cherry trees. It smells a bit foul, like rotting meat. You wrinkle your nose in disgust.

 

“Uh, yeah TZ,” he says anxiously, “I want you to stay right here for a minute, okay? I don’t want you out of my sight for a second, okay?” When Sollux is nervous, he starts making everything into a question. You remember him doing that whenever he got in trouble with the teacher at school, or when he got into fights. (“Eridan, I’m gonna make you wish you never said that, okay?” or “Vriska, you’re a bitch, alright?”)

 

“I’m not a baby,” you protest, “at least tell me what’s going on.”

 

“If I do you have to promise to stay put and let me handle this.” He takes his arm out of yours, making you feel a vague sense of panic. You like to think of yourself as independent, but you sincerely hate being alone. Besides, panic is infectious, even when you don’t have an inkling of what’s going on. No, especially then.

 

“Yeah, I promise.” You smooth out the bottom of your dress, suddenly self-conscious of your bare legs and arms. You feel cold and exposed.

 

He hesitantly takes a few steps towards towards the creek. “I think it’s a body. In the creek. There’s somebody’s body in the creek.”

 

God! You’re hit with a whole host of emotions you never thought that you would be able to feel. It sounds as if there has been a crime committed, none the less, a heinous murder! Who better to bring the unscrupulous perpetrator to his just and timely demise than these two rogue detectives? “Is it someone we know?” The first rule to detectiving is to get all of the facts. The first of those should be the pure, unadulterated, indisputable factual facts. Like who the sorry rotting corpse used to be.

 

“I don’t- Christ, I’m going to be sick, I don’t want to flip him over. But I think it’s-”

 

“Lemme take a look, Sollux.” You start to step towards his voice. “I was born for this kind of stuff.”

 

“Terezi,” he says firmly. That’s weird, he’s using your full name. You can forgive it this once, because Sollux must have been very unprepared to discover the scene of a murder today. Not everyone can be as ready as you all the time. “I know you’re into all that crime and punishment bullshit, but I think we should really get the authorities in here before you decide to fuck anything up.”

 

Why, you never have been so insulted. Crime and punishment bullshit? You know more about crime than half of the idiot cops in your town! “You and I can at least ID the body, Captor.”

 

“No need,” he breathes, “I’ve only ever seen one guy who’s seven feet tall and has enough hair to hide a small infant. This here’s Kurloz Makara.”

 

“Makara!” you almost yell. By, God, the Makaras! Those rich religious wingnuts, the boy Gamzee who’s never sober, and the boy Kurloz who never speaks! (You suppose, now, spoke. May he rest in peace.) How can this be so shocking, yet so, so fitting? “Sollux this is the biggest thing to hit Skaia since… since ever, Sollux!”

 

“Show a little reverence,” he chastises, “a boy’s dead. Doesn’t matter if we liked him or not, he’s still dead.”

 

“I know, I know, but that’s why we have to bring the killer to justice!” you exclaim.

 

You feel Sollux’s arm around yours again. “Terezi, I think he killed himself. I don’t think he was exactly in the best state of mind all the time.”

 

You roll your eyes behind your red shades. “Sollux Captor, people who kill themselves don’t end up face down in two feet creeks. He was murdered. Now, you should go back to the church and get the police and I’ll stay here to look for clues about who killed him.”

 

He tugs firmly on your arm. “No, TZ. That body’s no more than a few hours old and I don’t want you to be the next one in the creek. Trust me on this, the police know how to do their jobs, that’s why they’re the damn police.”

 

“Yeah, okay Sollux. But we’re not done here. Or even if you are, I’m not.” You reluctantly let him guide you back through the woods, well aware of the fact that you never got to pick any cherries. “I don’t want another case like Mituna’s on our hands.”

 

You think he’s going to slap you when you say that, but he just doesn’t respond. The police never did find out what happened to Sollux’s older brother in June of last year. All you know is that he was never the same. One minute he’s on track to win a nobel prize in physics, the next he can barely feed himself without spilling it on his shirt. You’ll be damned if you let another assailant walk free. You considered yourself to have a personal vendetta against all criminal offenders after The Mituna Captor Affair.

 

Sollux breathes in deeply. You know he feels the same way that you do, and you’re counting on him not to be a coward. “We’ll come back tonight. But any bullshit and I’m out.”

You let a devilish grin spread across your face. “Sollux Captor, it would be an honor to crack this case with you.”


	2. Quiick2and

You had not planned to alert the whole town of the Makara boy’s unfortunate death. You had planned to tell Ms. Meulin Leijon first, the girl he used to go around with, and let her have a minute to grieve. You think that Kurloz, however he was, deserved that much, just a minute of grieving without being the object of the town’s gossip. If he had no peace in life, as you’d suspect, he should be allowed a moment in death. Then you’d tell the sheriff and he’d go out to investigate. If it were up to you, you would’ve let the news spread among the townspeople organically. You would’ve let the police inform the Makaras themselves, who scare you to death.

 

It didn’t work how you planned, though, as nothing seems to do. The minute you entered the sanctuary through the back door, Terezi screeched, “The Makara’s boy is dead in the river! There’s been a murder most foul!” You think that all of the mystery novels that her mother buys her have had a very strange effect on her personality. 

 

You heard Meulin wail when Terezi was finished. It was a scream that could boil your blood and flip your skin inside out, but it was nothing if not justified. You know that better than anybody else in this God forsaken town.

 

She screamed even louder when she saw the body, all bloated and turning blue. It breaks your heart that a moment that should have been so private was broadcasted to the entire town.

 

There were three Makaras for most of your life, living in the old mansion at the top of the hill, and now you suppose that there are just the two. The young son that’s fifteen like you and Terezi and the crooked politician of a father. Neither of them have yet to shed a tear. Maybe the boy’s too inebriated to know what the hell is going on, but that father is just stone cold stoic. You can’t help but feel a pang of sadness when you wonder if Kurloz would’ve cried at seeing his brother’s corpse. You bet that he would’ve. If any Makara would’ve it would have been old Kurloz. Despite the rumors, he never seemed so bad to you. Maybe that’s just because he used to be so close with Mituna; you were used to him.

 

The pastor told everyone to stay put, but a good number of people left to try and get a glimpse at the body. Some were people who knew him, some knew his father, some were just kids who wanted to check out a murder scene. The sheriff made most of them go back inside.

 

Meulin’s clutching on to her little sister’s hand with such tenacity that you’re afraid she might accidentally rip off her fingers. It kills you to see Meulin sobbing into Horuss Zahhak’s shoulder like that, too. The two of them seem to be such an unfortunate pair together. It’s as if Meulin’s life incurs one unwarranted tragedy after another, while Horrus seems to be nothing but the walking embodiment of plain old shit luck. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that the two of them were a couple, as per your regular high school gossip. But there’s two things you know better: Meulin Leijon has (had) an unflinching devotion to Kurloz Makara, and Horuss Zahhak is head over heels for a boy who’s smile could absolve him of treason.

 

There is no reason for Rufio Nitram to be here with his younger brother, except that everyone just wants to trust him so much. The way everything he says is so disgustingly genuine, that one might have trouble not giving him his way. Or not falling in love. It’s a tough call, though.

 

Meenah Peixes is only here because you’re almost certain that her mother is the ruler of the free world. However, that is a theory that still needs to be proven. You’re guessing that her sister was put off at the thought of staring at a corpse in such a raw state as that of Kurloz’s. In fact, you almost feel indecent yourself. After all, is he not to have some dignity in death, if not especially in death? You’re just glad that the sheriff turned away the Amporas, because they would be sure to say something disgusting between the two of them. For someone who’s so adamant about his religion, Eridan’s not too great about the whole love and kindness thing. You absent-mindedly rub the place on the back of your forearm where Eridan once scratched hard enough to draw blood.

 

Aside from you, Terezi, and the sheriff, the only other people here are Rose and Roxy Lalonde, just two silent observers lucky enough to get past the sheriff’s haphazard scrutinization. It would be very easy to blame Rose’s general success in life on her good looks, but that would be unfair. Even though she’s pretty as hell, Rose Lalonde is genuinely the smartest person that you have ever met.

 

The sheriff finally has the good sense to turn over the body and get a solid ID on it. From the way the Meulin sobs so violently you can tell that it’s Kurloz before a word escapes the sheriff’s mouth. You take Terezi’s arm in yours again, not because she needs to be guided anywhere, but because you don’t want to experience something so heart wrenchingly awful all alone. The crook of Terezi’s arm has become somewhat of a place of comfort to you. Ironically, a crutch. Oh, Strider would go beserk if he ever thought of that one.

 

The front side is more grotesque than the back. There’s scratches up and down him that made the water underneath go red, and these open blue eyes that you know will haunt you. They’ll haunt you the way Mituna’s did when he didn’t recognize his own name, the way that Terezi’s did right after she broke Vriska Serket’s arm, or the way Aradia’s did when she was bleeding out on the pavement. You would suppose that you have a peculiar fixation with the sadness and the emptiness that people seem to carry in their eyes. Perhaps what is most notable about the eyes of Kurloz Makara is the complete lack of anything.

 

“That’s my son,” Makara speaks softly. He speaks with a softness that is not fitting. It makes you uneasy. His eyes meet yours, as if you were to blame for his son’s death. Or as if he even cared about his son in the first place. You stare back, as if saying, ‘I wouldn’t have found him if you kept a better eye on him’. It is not your place, but you are not known for staying in your place if the situation calls for it. He breaks the gaze first.

 

“Is he dead for sure?” asks Rufio Nitram good-naturedly. Unfortunately, a good nature is not enough to keep Meulin from releasing another heart wrenching wail.

 

The sheriff nods solemnly, and you can’t help but to notice the way that Zahhak just looks at the guy. It’s almost painful to you, the hopelessness.

 

Meenah Peixes interjects, “‘Course he’s dead. He’s been face down in that river for who knows how prong.”

 

Rufio argues over Meulin’s sobs, “I mean, there might be some chance, doll, that they could save him. Pump the water out of his lungs like-”

 

“He dead, son.” The sheriff interrupts, “Ain’t nothing else to it.”

 

You can feel the way Terezi jolts. “Nothing else to it… except that he was murdered!”

 

The whole circle of people tenses up. Of course that’s what everybody must have been thinking, but no one was tactless enough to say it. The bluntness you’ve come to love from Terezi has some rather severe drawbacks at times. “Terezi,” you whisper, swiftly elbowing her in the side.

 

If you blinked, you would miss it. Makara shoots the sheriff this look; it’s a look you can’t quite describe as happy or sad. It was a look like poison darts, like being stuck in molasses and choking on tainted meat. It is a threat. Rose Lalonde must have seen it, too, because she gives you the same look without the malice.

 

“Honey, this here was a suicide. I know it’s difficult to accept, but there will be a very nice funeral for your friend, here.” The sheriff waves his arm. “Clear out everybody, we’re going to get a crew down here to bring the body back.”

 

“But-” Terezi begins, interrupted by another swift elbow.

 

“Remember what I said,” you whisper more harshly, “No bullshit, or I’m out.” You tug her arm and guide her away from the creek, but you hear Rufio Nitram’s voice once more.

 

“We should say a prayer for him, since this is where he died and everything.” One time, Tavros told you that a soul could only ever get to heaven if fairies took it there, and you needed some weird prayer to summon them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he learned that shit from his brother.

 

Meenah Peixes groans, but Zahhak is quick to voice his support in that strange sing-song voice of his. Everyone seems to come to an agreement, if reluctantly. You think that Kurloz was a pretty religious guy; he would’ve liked this kind of thing. It’s right to honor the body however you can, if nothing else is right.

 

Everyone bows their head, maybe out of reverence, maybe because they want everyone to think that they’re reverent. Public prayer and Sunday morning services- it’s all a big show to you. You might be the only person there (besides those goddamn sappy Nitrams) who’s being genuine about praying.

 

Rufio asks, “Gamzee d’you want to say something?”

 

The younger Makara looks at him, slowly, like he was stuck in quicksand. He shakes his head. Come to think of it, you feel like you’re stuck in quicksand, too. Sinking, sinking…

 

“Mr. Makara?”

 

Makara number two takes less time to decline. There’s most likely no drugs in his system to slow him down, either that, or he’s good at hiding it.

 

Logically, Meulin would be next in line for a prayer, but she’s clearly not in much of a state to do anything. The burden then falls to the small Nepeta Leijon, hollow-eyed, but keeping her composure. Those eyes, bright green and holding so much heaviness, those are eyes that could haunt you.

 

“Lord, we ask today that Kurloz Makara find his way safely into your kingdom, and that you accept him with loving arms. We ask that you bring his soul to peace and that the good he has brought to this Earth carry on after his untimely death. We pray in the name of your son Jesus Christ, Lord. Amen.” Everyone repeats ‘Amen’ at different volumes, Horuss Zahhak being the loudest. You barely mouth it.

 

After everyone has raised their heads, they start to walk back through the woods to the church. You tug Terezi along with you, hoping that she doesn’t bring up the murder most foul once again. Before it was awkward, now it seems dangerous.

 

Only Horuss, Meulin, the sheriff, and little Nepeta are left behind. There is something about Nepeta so small and kind that makes you think that she doesn’t deserve to see this. It’s the same sort of aura projected by her older sister; they just have these big sad eyes and these sweet puffy dresses that make you think that they don’t deserve anything but the best.

 

Ahead of you, Tavros Nitram is crying and holding onto his brother’s shirt. Anyone who knew the kid could’ve told you that a drowned dead body would be too much for him to handle. Well, anyone but Tavros himself. He didn’t even know Kurloz. You don’t feel bad for him.

 

Meenah’s out of sight. You think that she only wanted to get a first hand look at the biggest event to come to Skaia and then get the fuck out of there. That’s how she is; she’s a busy-body. You’ve lost track of the Makaras as well, making you a bit nervous.

 

Rose comes up behind you, and she frankly scares the shit out of you.You thought for some reason that it would be Gamzee. “So you saw it as well?” she asks, voice soft and unwavering.

 

“Wha- I don’t know what you-”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Sollux Captor.” She pulls a pen out of her back pocket, and brings the sharp point down on your skin. She scribes out seven small, beautiful numbers that you recognize as a phone number. “You and your friend Ms. He Was Murdered should give me a call.” She suddenly fakes a very real looking smile and shouts, “See ya!”, running to catch up with her sister. God, that girl can act. If she didn’t belong behind a typewriter, you’d think that she’d belong on the big screen.

 

“Who was that?” Terezi asks with a sense of urgency, “I don’t recognize the voice.”

 

You casually explain, “Rose Lalonde. You know her, she’s in our grade.” You remark more quietly, “She agrees with you, TZ. I guess she wants me to phone her if we find out something new.”

 

“Sollux, I feel as if we are developing a small network of supporters,” she muses, much louder than she should. You suppose you can forgive her for it, because she’s smarter than you could ever hope to be.

 

You give her another, slightly harder elbow. “Remember when I said shut up about that kind of stuff?” You run your free hand through your hair. “We should talk this over at your house.”

 

“That sounds most ideal, Detective Appleberry Blast.” Terezi has this strange habit of referring to people by their smells; she thinks that you smell like apples. Most likely, it’s because of the shampoo that you use. She’s funny like that.

 

You don’t know how to describe this feeling, like sinking anticipation. It’s like fear of the inevitable and regret that no one did anything sooner. You decide that the only logical way to describe your feeling is quicksand. Yes, today is turning out to be a very quicksand-feeling day.


	3. TH3 GHOSTS WHO S1NG

Your older sister was the one to first inform you that your hair was something she

liked to call ‘honey blonde’. You asked what that meant, but she didn’t know how to describe it. She said light brown, but that still meant nothing to you.

 

It was Nepeta Leijon who told you that your hair was like wet sand on the beach, the kind people build castles out of. She told you it was like oak bookcases and sweet maple syrup. You said that you had no idea all of those were the same color, and she laughed at you. You still can’t quite visualize the color of your hair, but you’re more proud to wear it, if that makes any sense. She told you that your eyes are the color of autumn sunsets and peach iced tea, and over-ripe strawberries. Sometimes, when you remember that you’re a little bit reluctant to put on your shades.

 

Most of your friends are bad at describing things. Even Sollux, who you rely on as your Describer-Of-Stuff in Chief, can’t quite reach Nepeta’s level of accuracy and specificity. He relies too much on facts. He said the body was sliced up down the front, and that the blood made the water red and thick. He said that his hair was matted and his body looked waterlogged and deader than dead. You would give anything for Nepeta Leijon to describe the body of Kurloz Makara to you. Of course, when you brought it up, Sollux told you that it would be indecent of you to ask.

 

When you walked inside your house, your older sister, Latula, asked Sollux how Mituna was doing. It hurts you to see your dear friend be reduced to the boy with the brain-sick brother, and it dawns on you that perhaps Meulin will become just the girl with the dead boyfriend. That hurts your stomach to think about. Sollux said Mituna was doing better, but he was touching your arm and you can feel when people are lying. There are some things, however, that you have learned not to bring up with people. Your mother always said the quickest way to ruin a friendship was to talk about religion and politics, but you think sick brothers could be one of those things, too. Contrary to popular belief, you do have some sense of social boundaries.

 

You’re sitting quietly in your sunroom now, while Sollux scrawls something onto a loose piece of paper. Felt-tip with bright blue ink, like he always insists on using. You use red, when you get the chance, because you’ve been informed from many sources that most of your favorite things are the color called red.

 

“Maybe we should go to the corner store after this,” you suggest, “get a folder and make this into some sort of case file.”

 

“Sounds great,” he responds, “now we have to get a working list of suspects together. Just name anyone who has any motive right now because this is just-”

 

“Aranea Serket,” you say promptly.

 

He sighs, “Okay, I know I said anyone, but let’s try to at least leave our personal vendettas out of this.”

 

You shake your head defiantly, “Serkets have evil running through their veins. I bet they tag-teamed the guy or something. Probably for fun.” Serkets are vile, vile creatures. You shutter and remember when Vriska got little Tavros’ legs broken, and almost smashed Megido’s brains out onto the pavement. She was never quite the same; empty or something.

 

“Fine,” he says after a moment, “but if you get to blame Serkets, I get a freebie, too.”

 

“Who are you writing down?” you ask, annoyed that he still forgets to narrate these things for you. How long has it been, six years of friendship?

 

“Amporas,” he asserts, “besides, they’d have more of a motive than Serkets, Cronus hated that guy. Plus, he’s always all over Meulin. I don’t think Aranea ever gave a single fuck about him.”

 

You shrug, “Fine by me,” then you suggest suggest, “Horuss?”

 

Sollux refuses. “Horuss would never hurt a fly. He and his brother don’t even eat meat. Trust me, you and me would have more of a motive than any Zahhaks.”

 

You scratch your chin, like they do in the movies. You know, when someone’s really contemplating something. Sollux has a point; Equius Zahhak always talks a big game, and is the first one to break the gym class equipment, but you don’t think you’ve ever heard of him intentionally harming anyone. In fact, you’re certain that his dear friend Nepeta Leijon stomached that murder scene better than he could have. “What about Damara Megido? I heard that her brains have flown down south for the winter.”

 

Sollux laughs. You always think he’s going to be more sensitive about that kind of stuff than he is. It’s only the really explicit mentions of Mituna that seem to get to him. But well, when it gets to him, it really gets to him. After all, that’s how the younger Ampora boy ended up out of school with a broken nose and a busted lip for a week. “Yeah, I’ll put her down.” After scribbling something furiously, he pauses for a moment and adds, “What if it was the Makaras themselves?”

 

“They wouldn’t would they?” you ask. But wouldn’t it be delightfully convoluted if they did! It just seems difficult for you to fathom hating your own flesh and blood so much. You suppose, that’s because you are very fortunate when it comes to familial situation. “Put ‘em down, Appleberry.”

 

He continues, “You didn’t see that look of pure death that Makara gave the sheriff when you started shouting about it being a murder. If that look couldn’t have killed his son… I don’t know what would’ve. 

 

“That was tasteless,” you say through a cackle.

 

“Yeah, at least it’s all private this time,” he asks again, “anybody else?”

 

You rack your brain for anyone who would care enough to kill the Makara boy in cold blood. “Meenah Peixes,” you say suddenly, “protecting her political assets.”

 

“That’s good, TZ, that’s good. This is a good list. Is there anyone we’re missing?”

 

“Read ‘em off to me.”

 

He clears his throat and shuffles the paper. “Serkets, Amporas, Damara Megido, Makaras, and Meenah Peixes.”

 

You can’t think of anyone else who would do it, for the life of you. “That’s enough to get a good start.”

 

“Can I telephone Rose Lalonde?” asks Sollux.

 

You reply, bewildered, “Sure, phone’s in the kitchen. What d’you need her for?” You know Rose Lalonde best for arguing with the teacher and writing mildly disturbing class essays. Murder mysteries are your thing, not hers.

 

“She wanted to help,” as he gets up, he adds, “remember she agrees with you, about the murder thing?”

 

Come to think of it, you do vaguely remember her writing her number on Sollux’s hand. You scoff, “Of course she does, I’m right.” After a deep sigh, you say, “Just make sure she doesn’t mess anything up for us.”

 

As Sollux rushes out of the sun room, he calls, “Yeah, totally!”

 

When you asked her, Nepeta described Sollux as looking exactly how you’d expect him to look, apart from the eyes. She said he’s small and skinny all around with hair the color of mud and fudgesicles. She explained to you that the left eye is like the forest behind the church, and his right is like the creek that runs through it. You assume, though, that his right eye has not been tainted by the thick red blood of a murdered Zealot.

 

You replay the sound of her prayer in your head, the way it sounded this morning. None of the sounds of nature stopped, because nature doesn’t really care when boys die young. Contrary to what Tavros Nitram might like to think, there are no woodland fairies that bring dead souls to heaven. You just find yourself hoping that Makara made it there somehow. You would think it a bit upsetting if Nepeta’s short prayer was said in vain.

 

It might not be so bad for old Kurloz if he had to spend the rest of time in the woods, though. Well, it wouldn’t be as bad as some places. He could watch the squirrels grow the forest, and the cherry trees bloom and die and come back to life each season. You’re not quite sure about the mechanics of becoming an ethereal being, but perhaps he would be able to eat some of the cherries in the spring. Wouldn’t it be lovely if being dead got him his voice back, and he could sing along to the robins’ songs instead of just whistling? It gives you a chill to think that sometimes the birds might respond not to the songs of other birds, but to the voices of the dead. Maybe they are the only ones that can hear them. That shouldn’t make you scared, though. Don’t the dead have as much of a right to sing as anybody else?

 

Experimentally, you call out, “Hello?” as if some spirit could hear you, or as if anyone even died in your house, built by the previous owners in the year 1950. “Is anyone else here?”

 

“Yeah, TZ, I’m right here.”

 

Even though you immediately recognize the voice as your still living companion Sollux Captor, it gives you one hell of a fright. You jump back and practically land in the window.

 

“Christ, are you alright? It’s just me, Sollux.” He rushes over to you, and you let him pull you up. Ordinarily, you’d insist on being left alone, but you have nothing to prove to Sollux, who is probably the only person on Earth as acutely aware of your disability as you.

 

You shake the dust off your dress and insist, “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about stuff.”

 

“Stuff?” he asks, not letting go of your arm. Perhaps the two of you will go on some Rose-Lalonde themed adventure. You know the way yourself, but you let him walk you to the stairs.

 

“Yes, stuff,” you explain, “I was wondering if ghosts stick around after their body is dead. And if they do, I was wondering if they sing songs to keep themselves from getting bored out of their dead, rotten brains.”

 

He makes a noise that isn’t quite a laugh, but is something of a recognition of humor. “I think if they do anything at all they go straight to heaven. Straight through the pearly gates, or nothing at all.”

 

“No hell?” you asked, surprised. You would have pegged Sollux as the type to believe that everyone goes to hell; he’s usually a big downer.

 

“I don’t think anyone deserves hell, and, well, I can’t imagine any God would either. At least a God that I’d want anything to do with.” You recognize now that the two of you are on the main floor, no longer protected by the privacy of your bright little sun room. “Rose Lalonde wants to meet us at the corner store.”

 

It’s weird about Sollux, how he says these deep things that you never knew he thought, then he goes right on to talk about the weather or Rose Lalonde. “Lemme get my cane first,” you insist. You suppose that Sollux keeps it interesting, at least.

 

You have come to love your cane very much. Your sister got it for you special when you turned 13; she says she got it custom-carved like a dragon, but you didn’t need her to tell you. You know what dragon shapes feel like. She said she had it painted all red, too, not that you would know. You believe her, though. All of yours friends told you that it was red too, and they wouldn’t lie just to spare your feelings. Well, maybe Tavros Nitram would, but someone like Vriska Serket wouldn’t. Sometimes your cane feels like a sure-footed extension of yourself. Sollux’s arm is nice on Sunday morning walks, but you truly enjoy being independent whenever you can. When you reach for your cane, he lets you go with grace.

 

“Did you bring the suspect list?” you ask, once he’s closed the front door behind the two of you.

 

“If we’re serious about the detective thing then we better think of some more discreet names for stuff quick. But yeah, I did.” You take a few confident steps to the left before Sollux calls out, “Right, TZ.”

 

“Yeah I knew that, I was just testing you.”

 

He responds through pursed lips, “Mhmm, sure.”

 

“No, I did,” you argue. However, you do take the opportunity to latch back onto his dumb smug arm.

 

It seems almost unfitting that the sun is so bright today, as it was only a few hours ago that you found a dead boy in a creek. You suppose, though, that if you were dead, you wouldn’t want to make the day cold and wet. You wouldn’t want to depress people like that. In fact, if you died, you might ask God to spare a little extra sunlight to cheer everyone up a bit. You’d ask that everyone wear bright colors and sing happy songs at your funeral, too, even though that’s not how funerals are supposed to work. It’s unfair that once someone is a ghost they automatically have to be rainy and grey.

 

Kurloz and Gamzee always used to seem so sad, cooped up in that empty mansion at the top of the hill. Well, at least until Gamzee found drugs and Kurloz found Meulin. Now that he’s dead, maybe he can sing, sing, sing...

 

You close your eyes and try to soak in just a little extra sunlight in honor of Kurloz Makara. You hope that he would have wanted that.


	4. A clande2tiine corner 2tore affaiir

When you and Terezi arrive at the corner store, Rose Lalonde is leaning against the side of the building taking a long drag from her cigarette. Your dad always told you not to smoke, cause those things will make you sick, but you suppose you can respect Rose’s choice to do it. Besides, you hate to admit it, but the look of it all really suits her. Rose has always vaguely reminded you of a 1920s flapper girl.

 

“Hello!” She calls, flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground. You hate that kind of thing, but it would just be petty of you to speak up.

 

You nod and let go of Terezi’s arm, letting her find her way to Rose with her cherished cane. “I’m gonna go inside and buy that folder and some paper, TZ. Can you two wait out here for me?”

 

“Folder?” inquires Rose, “Why do you need one of those?”

 

You pull the folded suspect list out of your back pocket and hand it to Terezi. You’re confident that she knows what it is. “Case file. It’ll only take two minutes.”

 

“Of of course,” Rose responds, “I’m sure Terezi and I have some very pressing matters to discuss, anyways.”

 

You nod and head into the old corner store. It’s been here in Skaia as long as you can remember, as much a part of the town and the schoolhouse or the creek. The man who owns it has always been nice, but his goofy son is the one working at the counter today. You’re almost certain that the pretty girl sweeping the floor is his older sister. You don’t know why, but you’ve always found that family business kind of thing to be charming. It’s so safe and home-town.

 

“Can I help you?” the boy at the counter calls out before the welcome bell is even finished ringing. You recall his name being something like ‘Jack’ or ‘John’, but not well enough to refer to him as such. It’s not like he would know your name, and then it would just be weird.

 

You take a few steps across the polished wooden floor. “Yeah, d’you have a folder or binder or something that I could buy?” You feel in your front pocket, “Uh, preferably something for under fifty cents?”

 

The girl with the broom points towards the back left of the store. “School supplies are over there, hun.”

 

You nod and make your way to where her finger is pointing. You’ll admit, there’s not an impressive selection for your budget. The least ridiculous option, which you end up purchasing, is a plain red folder and a short stack of lined papers. You think that someone like Dave Strider would have gotten an ironic kick out of the folder with kittens, but you’re not Dave Strider. You’re not even sure that that’s the real definition of irony; you think it’s just him being a tool.

 

The minute you leave the building, flimsy red folder in hand, Terezi says, “She wants to investigate the Maryams, too.”

 

You put the folder in her hand, a bit confused. “What the hell do Maryams have to do with anything?” You would never peg your friend Kanaya as the type to cause anyone harm for no good reason. As far as you could tell, nobody in that family would have enough reason in them to bother with killing Kurloz Makara.

 

Rose gives a knowing half-smile. You wait eagerly for her explanation, to see how she’s going to spin darling Kanaya into a hardened criminal. “Kanaya and Porrim’s mother was Makara’s maid for five years. To my knowledge, they are not on good terms. There’s lingering resentment on Ms. Maryam’s part, bad blood, if you will.”

 

“So you’re saying?” You ask. Being fired from a job doesn’t seem like something that anyone sane, especially Ms. Maryam, would kill over. In fact, you can’t quite seem to disassociate the name Maryam with the cookies Kanaya brought in on the first day of the first grade to make sure that everyone liked her. There are still plenty of kids who give her shit, but she handles it with the utmost grace. You think that everyone could learn a thing or two from the your dear friend Kanaya. She did once punch Eridan Ampora in the throat, but that’s very forgivable. And to be honest, you would be lying if you said he didn’t deserve it.

 

Rose rolls her eyes. She wears the thickest black eyeliner. She doesn’t need it by any means, but you’re guessing that she just wears it because she likes it. You respect that, like you respect a lot of things about Rose. “I’m saying, that although bad blood doesn’t necessarily equate to an act of homicide, it wouldn’t hurt to look into it. I bet Porrim Maryam is the type to hold a grudge.”

 

“I’m all for tacking them on the end of the list,” interjects Terezi, “like you said, this is our broad list of anyone with a potential motive. We’ll narrow it down as soon as we can.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” you say hesitantly. Putting down the name Maryam still doesn’t quite sit right with you.

 

Rose writes down the name in that pretty loopy scrawl of hers. You’ve always thought nice handwriting to be a gift. Yours is cramped and average at best, while Terezi’s is downright illegible. The only person you’ve known to write such pretty letters is Tavros Nitram, but that’s probably because he spends a lot of time practicing. You get the sense that these letters flow from Rose’s left hand naturally.

 

She thrusts the paper back into your hands and gives you a slight wave. “You kept my phone number, correct?”

 

You nod.

 

“Call me when you find out something new, but I’ll be leaving most of the sleuthing to you two. Think of me more as your professional networker.”

 

Terezi comes up from behind and clamps a hand on her shoulder. “Of course we will.” With a slight shove, Terezi calls, “Toodaloo!” You suppose she wants to get rid of Rose to start on the real case. In other words, the sleuthing part.

 

Once Rose walks away, with her peculiar and confident gait, you gingerly place the suspect list in your newly purchased case file. You believe that there’s a lot that you can learn about someone by the way that they walk. There’s Terezi, with her long and cautious steps, or Vriska Serket with her rushed, giant strides. The preacher’s son, little Karkat Vantas, who walks like he’s late for a meeting, or Eridan-fucking-Ampora, who walks like he’s got a pole up his ass. He probably does.

 

You push up your glasses with one free finger. “So, where to first, TZ?” You’re wholeheartedly expecting her to say the Serket house. Old vendettas die hard, after all.

 

“Leijons,” she says, surprising you, “before we start put our noses in places they don’t belong we sure as hell better know the facts first. You know, the basics. The background, the complete history of Mr. Kurloz Makara.” She takes a moment to get uncomfortably close to you. “We better know that dead boy inside and out.” She slinks her arm naturally into yours, and points east. “Leijons!” Little does Terezi know, the Leijons live about a mile west from the corner store. Is it shameful to get a little bit of a kick out of her disability? It probably is, but you suppose you have a free pass, seeing as she thinks that kind of stuff is just as funny as you do. No one makes fun of Terezi more than Terezi; she’s told you once or twice in confidence that she actually enjoys being blind. You don’t get it, and you hope that you never ever have to lose the little eyesight that you have. You suppose, though, to each her own.

 

“Gladly,” you say, tugging her in the correct direction. 

 

Frankly, though, you wonder if Meulin will be physically able to tell you anything. She was a wreck this morning, and people don’t just get over that. You still resent it when people good-naturedly ask about Mituna’s accident or his non-existent recovery. Maybe it’s just your overwhelmingly pessimistic nature speaking, but you don’t think anyone actually cares about how he’s doing and how you’re doing, maybe apart from the Pyropes or those goddamn sappy Nitrams. Most of the time, when people ask about how he’s doing, they’re wondering what ridiculous shenanigans he gets himself into, not being able to function like a normal human being and all. It’s an insult, when they ask you. (That’s how Eridan Ampora managed to ruin his pretty face for a while). Broken noses and pretty faces aside, you do not want to insult Meulin Leijon. She simply does not deserve it.

 

When Mituna was still in his coma, and everyone thought that he was going to die, everyone came by and brought your mother and father little cakes and presents. (You used one of the fancy bowls that the Zahhacks brought by to eat your cereal this morning.) They always said sorry for your loss, but now that you’re a year older you get the sense they said that just because they had to say that. After all, you yourself didn’t lose anything; Mituna was the one who lost his brain. It was the worst when they thought they had to say it to you. ‘Sorry for your loss, Sollux.’ ‘Thank you,’ you’d say. Then they’d dutifully shuffle out the door to continue on with their lives undisturbed. You don’t know that you feel too awful for the Makaras, but for poor Meulin Leijon, you are genuinely sorry for her loss.

 

Perhaps that’s not what she wants to hear. After all, you know you wouldn’t. But, well, the case must go on, and Terezi Pyrope knows best.

Besides, nothing says ‘I’m deeply truly sorry for your loss' like bringing the murderer to justice, right?


	5. M4D T34 P4RTY

For some reason, Sollux does not want to be the one to knock at the door. Like they’ll even know who knocked by the time they answer! If they answer, as Sollux seems to think that they will not. He can be such a downer sometimes. If someone came to your house to investigate a family member’s murder, you’d be downright giddy to help them out.

 

When you asked, Sollux said the Leijons have a nice little house. He said it’s one story and white with little green shutters, a cute garden stretching out along the sidewalk. He also said to picture it like a little house from a fairy tale, which helped you a great deal. You do love it when he tries to be un-Solluxish for your benefit. It’s sweet of him.

 

So the door knocking duty falls on your narrow shoulders. It won’t hurt you if nobody answers. You can just make your way to the Serkets’, or those smelly Amporas.

 

You’re surprised to hear Horuss Zahhak’s voice once the door is opened. What is this, some kind of sick corpse party? “Meulin doesn’t want to see anybody now.” As he goes to slam the door shut, you stick the bottom of your cane in its way.

 

“We’re actually here to see Nepeta,” you lie. After all, you don’t need the intimate details of what Kurloz was like in bed or how his hair smelled. You just need the cold hard facts, and Nepeta is a satisfactory secondary source. She’s quite good at describing things, after all.

 

Before the door is opened again, Sollux brings his elbow into your ribs. It’s harder than usual, so you guess you must be getting under his skin or something. Well, if he’s not ready to take this case seriously, you can do it alone. You elbow him back, as per your usual protocol.

 

You hear Horuss sigh one of those giving-up sighs. “She and Equius are out back. Feel free.” With a satisfactory response, you remove your cane and let him close the door once more. God, Meulin must not be feeling much better. Given the circumstances, you’re not sure why expected her to. You suppose murder mysteries are not everyone’s cup of tea.

 

“See Appleberry Blast, persistence pays off.” You bet he rolled his eyes at that. You don’t care. You take your arm out of his, because you can very well guide yourself to a backyard.

 

“Sollux,” you call before completing your walk, “you have to tell me, are there flowers in the back yard, too?”

 

“Mhmm,” he responds, “Pink ones on bushes by the side of the house. And there’s a trumpet vine by the patio.”

 

“That sounds pretty,” you mutter.

 

“It really- Hey!” he yells.

 

Instinctively, you wave. When people shout ‘hey!’ that probably means there’s something or someone to wave to. “Hello!” you greet.

 

You’re greeted by a half-tackle, half-hug sort of thing. It must be Nepeta Leijon. “Hey, Nepeta,” you say through a small laugh. “And hey, Equius, wherever you are.”

 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Pyrope,” responds that unnaturally deep voice of Equius’. It may sound a bit dumb, but you don’t like talking to him because of the way he sounds. Of course, you don’t have much else to go off of except for the way he always smells vaguely of sweat and dirt. Equius Zahhak has always struck you as someone who is better left as an amiable acquaintance rather than a close friend. You’re not sure, but you think you detect a hint of hostility in his voice. You are, after all, intruding on what may have been a private moment. Like you give a damn what Equius Zahhak of all people thinks about you.

 

“Nepeta help me prove a point to Sollux here. Can you describe the sky for me?” When you ask, she lets you out of her tackle-embrace. You’re only a little bit sad when she does.

 

“Uh, sure,” she says a bit confused. She’s nothing, though, if not compliant. “It’s nice and clear today, but there are few clouds that kind of look like the frosting on the side of a wedding cake. The sky reminds me of those blue raspberry sodas they sell in the corner store, or lake Eerie when the edges freeze over. It’s nice today, Rezi.”

 

“Oh,” Sollux says defensively, “So if I just make everything about food it’s a good description? I swear, TZ, you have an extra stomach where your eyes should be.”

 

“I gotta have some way to see things, Captain Appleberry.” You see the world like a blurred ball of colors and tastes, since you have no other way. Blue is clear and calm like sailboats on a sunny day or the beating wings of dragonflies. Green’s natural and fresh like treetops and spearmint bubblegum. Red, though! Red is sweet like cherries, and just so alive! Red is the color of the blood that runs through your veins and the color of your beating heart. Red is the color of adventure, the color of your cane, and the color of your sneakers. Red is the color of love and lust like full lips and roses. Red is the color of hatred like Vriska Serket’s eyeshadow, or the scar you left down her broken, bleeding arm. It hurts you that most people think that things can simply be ‘red’ and they leave it at that. Nepeta Leijon is one of the rare people who sees the world as you do.

 

Before Sollux makes another snarky comment, Equius says curtly, “Would the two of you kindly explain why you’ve brought yourselves here today? Nepeta has informed me of your… ahem… woodland escapades.” He says that as if he’s so high and mighty, as if he’s holier than everyone for sitting in the front row at church. What a fucking prick.

 

“We’re here to solve a murder,” you blurt, “like the police aren’t going to.”

 

You know everyone’s looking at you. If anything, you’re glad that Appleberry blast over there doesn’t have drills for pupils, or else he’d be boring holes through your torso right now. You hear Nepeta gasp.

 

“Ms. Pyrope. that’s wholly indecent! I’ll give you a warning, Miss, if you and your disdainful friend do not vacate Nepeta’s yard within one minute I’ll make sure that-”

 

“Oh, shut up Sweatquius,” Nepeta interrupts. You guess that she must have given him a small shove because of the grunt he makes. That, and you hear Sollux barely contain a laugh. “Let Rezi talk for a minute. You’d be an idiot if you believed that suicide schtick.”

 

“Nepeta!” responds Equius, “I ask that you speak of the late Kurloz Makara’s passing with more tact. He was, after all, practically family.” It’s strange to hear Equius speak of Nepeta’s family, as the two are so clearly unrelated, both biologically and in nature. You suppose that since he and his brother are here during what must be a particularly trying time in the Leijon household, they must have reached some familial status. Despite your obvious differences, you sometimes forget that Sollux isn’t your twin brother.

 

She sounds just a little bit regretful, replying, “Sorry Equius. You know I wasn’t that close to him. He gave me kind of.... a bad feeling.”

 

“Hey,” says Sollux, “let’s start with that.” You hear him shuffle around, probably for a blank piece of paper in the case file and his pen. When you write, you have the tendency to write on the lines instead of in between them, so you have no problem letting Sollux handle that. “Why did Kurloz give you a bad feeling, Nepeta?”

 

Equius sighs, “Well, if the two of you must stay, per Nepeta’s judgement, it would not be right of us to discuss this standing up. Could we converse more comfortably over a cup of tea?”

 

You shake your head. “I don’t drink tea.”

 

“Mr. Captor?” asks Equius.

 

“Do you have coffee?” Sollux says, almost seeming unsure of himself. You don’t know why. He himself said that there was nothing about Equius Zahhak to fear. That’s probably a bit easier to think when you’re not face to face with him, though.

 

“Tea,” Equius says shortly.

 

Sollux swallows and replies, “That’s fine then.”

 

The four of you walk back to a small table on the patio; Nepeta guides you by the hand. She has cold little hands, and calluses all over. You wouldn’t expect it, but Mr. Appleberry-bony-fingers has softer hands than Nepeta. In all honesty, he probably cares more than she does.

 

After sliding down into a chair next to you, Nepeta says, “Alright, Sollux, fire away.” Perhaps you’re being oversensitive, but she seems too eager to talk. For a fleeting moment, you consider the possibility that Nepeta killed Kurloz. Wouldn’t that be a feat! Five foot four Nepeta slicing up seven foot Kurloz and hauling his body through the woods to the creek! That’s the kind of twist they always put in mystery novels to keep the reader on hers toes. You have to remind yourself that this is real life, and not a mystery novel. Nepeta never would and never could do such a thing.

 

“Yes,” Sollux begins, clearing his throat, “I guess we’ll start from the beginning. Tell us about when you first met Kurloz. How did you feel about him?”

 

“Well,” she says. You hear the sound of tea being poured into a cup for Sollux. You’re parched, but don’t decide to ask for any; you already had your chance and declined. You probably couldn’t even swallow a sip without spitting it up, anyways. “I didn’t like him at first. I met him two years, ago, when he started dating my sistfur-”

 

“Nepeta! This is not the time for puns!” Equius scolds.

 

“Anyways, I met him when he started dating my sister. He was full grown by then, and I was maybe five feet tall at the most, so you have to imagine how terrifying that was for me. I was at least expecting him to say something funny or nice in a friendly-giant voice, but he didn’t. I don’t know how much you know about Kurloz, but-”

 

You interrupt, “For the sake of our records, just assume we don’t know anything. Give us the complete scoop on Kurloz Makara.”

 

“Right,” Nepeta responds. She takes a moment to gather her bearing and continues, “Well Kurloz doesn’t speak. Didn’t. I don’t know, but I never heard him say anything. I mean, he did once, but I’m losing my place. Point is, he scared the shit out of me when I first saw him.”

 

“Language!” God, you’re getting tired of Equius’ bullshit.

 

“Oh, fuck off, Sweatquius,” Nepeta says, “I’m trying to give these guys a case record or something.”

 

“I believe that you can do that without sullying the quality of-”

 

“Y’know,” you say, “I could really go for a glass of water, Equius.”

 

He pauses for a moment, then takes the hint. “Yes, of course.” You barely hear him make his way back towards the house to get you water. It’s strange, for such a big guy, he steps so lightly. You suppose he must have good body control, unlike Sollux. He’s barely 100 pounds, but you could hear him coming from a mile away.

 

“You can keep going now,” you tell Nepeta, “swears and all.”

 

She laughs. “Can I do the puns?”

 

As you’re about to agree, Sollux blurts, “Maybe not, Nepeta. Everything but puns. Just tell us about the time you heard Kurloz talk. That sounds like something we could go off of.”

 

“That was about this time last year,” she explains, “I always just assumed that he was a mute, like he physically couldn’t make any sounds except breaths and whistles and stuff. But I never said he said any words, Sollux. He was staying with us, like he did sometimes. I think our parents must have felt bad for him with his dad and all. But he was staying with us, and I heard this blood-curdling scream in the middle of the night. There was something about it that was just so sad, and so terrifying that I’ll never forget it. What is was about… well, you’d have to ask Meulin. I didn’t want to know. He was a very strange guy, Kurloz. I never was close to him, but I kind of wish I had, now. I feel like I could have done something.” She sounds a bit sad to you, and it breaks your heart. There is nothing Nepeta did to trigger the murder. You know this already for a fact.

 

Sollux is the one to console her. “C’mon Nepeta, you couldn’t have done anything. I know it feels that way, but trust me.” You’re reminded of the way Sollux screamed and cried after Mituna’s accident, like it was his fault, his fault. It was about a week after it happened, too, when he just broke down and buried his head in your shoulder. It was like he dipped your heart in liquid nitrogen and smashed it against the tile. ‘He’s not waking up, TZ. He’s not going to wake up and I should’ve done something.’ He doesn’t like to show it, but there’s some aspect of Sollux Captor that will forever seem to you vaguely sad and distant. You also know that every part of him thinks that he deserves to feel that way, even revels in it. There’s nothing you can do when he has nights like that, though, as infrequent as they are now.The only thing you can do is let him scream and cry and feel so positively red. It’s worse when he turns grey and apathetic, like Aradia Megido after Vriska got to her. (You’re certain that Sollux blames himself for that, too, because he turns so grey and sad around her.) “It’s not your fault, Nepeta.” He repeats, almost as you said it to him again and again when he thought it was.

 

“Do you know of anyone that disliked Kurloz?” you ask, trying to keep the investigation on track.

 

She responds quietly, “Not a lot of people actually liked Kurloz. Even his family was shitty to him; I don’t know how much cause, well, we never talked, and Meulin kept that shit on lockdown. I guess, politically, they weren’t in a great standing with the Peixes’ or Amporas. I’ve heard rumors about something going down with the Serkets, but I’m not sure how true that is.”

 

You shoot Sollux a look to let him know that you’re blind Serket accusation wasn’t such a fluke after all. Of course, according to Nepeta, neither was his with the Amporas. “What about the Maryams?” you ask, thinking that you’ll just go through the rest of your suspects.

 

“Well,” she begins, unsure, “Makara had a falling out with Ms. Maryam, but she doesn’t seem like she’d have anything against her son!”

 

Sollux adds, “How about Damara Megido?”

 

She laughs, “I think now a days she has it out for just about everybody.”

 

You hear the door close behind someone, and assume that it must be Equius. You’re suspicions are confirmed when he sets a glass of water down in front of you. It’s cold, as it should be on clear muggy days, with water droplets running down the edges. They taught you it’s called condensation, but you like to think your water glass is sweating in the heat. You rub some of the droplets against your flushed cheeks. “Thanks, Equius.”

 

“Yes, don’t mention it,” he replies, “have the two of you made progress on your investigation?” He seems as if he’s warmed up to the idea. Maybe seeing Meulin inside reminded him how important justice is for the grieving; that’s what you hope, anyways.

 

“Mhmm,” you reply, “Do you have anything to say about Kurloz Makara?”

 

“What,” he asks, “like his life story?”

 

You nod at Sollux, “As much as you believe would be pertinent to the case.”

 

You hear Equius pull out a chair and slink down into his seat. You’re very sure that he must sit in a very proper manner, legs crossed and hands still. He’s very strange to you. “Well, the first thing I would say about the late Makara is that he was not as bad as everyone thought, not nearly as bad.”

 

He pauses as if expecting a response, but you nod at him to keep going. “He was quiet, is all, and I think that people were afraid of that. Never in all my years of knowing the Makara family have I ever seen Kurloz become even slightly temperamental. He was quite pleasant towards me. He was large, and his mannerisms were always large, but they were subtle. Passive, even. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He pauses for a moment, then says something quiet and so uncharacteristically angry that it shocks you to your core. “If you ever find the guy that did it, let me know, okay? I would rip the brute apart with my bare hands. When beggars die, there are no comets seen, yet the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”

 

Shakespear, you vaguely recognize. However, you’re a little more preoccupied with the threat of murder than your distant friend’s literary allusion. You know better than anybody that revenge is a vicious cycle. Revenge is a three headed beast that will not hesitate to swallow you whole. Revenge doesn’t even chew.

 

“Equius,” Sollux says sternly, “let’s keep our heads on right, here. I think it would be wise to let the police handle it once we-”

 

Equius laughs, “The police have already officially closed the investigation. If justice is to be served, it will come by those who would sully their hands to avenge a grievous wrong done upon humanity itself.”

 

Nepeta pipes up, “If you were there, Equius, know that I would be, too.” You’ve never understood Nepeta’s devotion to Equius. He doesn’t deserve her. 

 

Before this mad tea party gets any darker, you interrupt, “Yeah, we’ll tell you guys when we find out something new. Just… don’t do anything dumb, okay?” You turn your head to where you believe Nepeta must be, next to you. “I don’t want you getting yourself hurt over this.”

 

“Rezi, everything’s fine!” She insists. She’s not fine, though. Revenge corrupts, revenge kills. Revenge breaks legs and arms and spills innocent blood onto the pavement. Revenge has left an ugly scar stretching down your back, like red lightning. Not red like hatred or pumping blood, red like fire and 3rd degree burns.

 

Sollux says tentatively, “We should make our way over to the Amporas before sunset.” Yes, because at sunset you go back to the woods. 

 

You wave tersely to Equius, and give Nepeta a hug that lingers just a bit too long, or not long enough. You can’t decide which one, because she her hair is soft and smells like mint. You bet if you could see her, she would be really beautiful. Of course, that’s not exactly something you can expect her to accurately describe.

 

As you walk away, cane in hand and arm linked with Sollux’s, you could swear you hear Equius say one last thing. It’s not meant for you, but you can’t help but to pick it up. “Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.” Equius freaks you out sometimes. Just a little bit.


	6. 2unrii2e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this takes so long to update! Even though I have a pretty much set plot direction, the chapters for this one take me quite a bit longer to write (because I am wordy as hell lol)

Eridan Ampora is gaudy. There is not quite another word to describe him; he’s always throwing around his money, not like he did anything to earn it. Ten ugly gold rings for each of his pretty little fingers, so that when he throws punches he can leave pretty, bloody little bruises. Not to mention his sense of pure-fucking-entitlement, the way his nose is always turned up and he never actually looks at you. He’s not confrontational, that’s the worst part. When he has a problem, he makes some snide, passive-aggressive comment, like it’s nothing. He says the worst things as if they’re some obvious fact. (So, how’s Mituna doin’? Still chokin’ on his own spit? That’s nice, Sol.) You think if you had to hate anyone in the world, like focus it all on one concrete person, you’d pick Eridan. He really brings your blood to a boil.

 

“You knock,” you say to Terezi at the bottom of the Ampora driveway. She’s already halfway to the house, feeling around with her cane.

 

“You got it, Appleberry.” She pauses and takes a sniff of the air. “Sollux, can you describe this place for me?”

 

“Yeah,” you say, tentatively taking a step onto the driveway. You don’t know exactly how to describe it except for the fact that it’s ugly. You’re not just biased because this is the Ampora house- it really is just ugly. Everything from the meticulously kept lawn to the patterned flowers and grey paint on the shutters make it look so deliberate. Deliberately indeliberate, if you will. It’s the kind of rich guy cookie-cutter house that you see on the cover of your mom’s Better Homes and Gardens magazines. How positively boring. “It’s grey and big with an ugly garden in the front.”

 

“I’ve never heard of an ugly garden,” remarks Terezi, “is it overrun by weeds or something?”

 

You shake your head, even though she couldn’t even see that if she was facing you. “No, it’s more of the particular lack of weeds. This place is unnatural.”

 

She snorts, “Yeah, just like Amporas. Cookie-cutter assholes.”

 

You follow her up to the door, case file still in hand. You don’t stop her from ringing the doorbell twice, obnoxious as it may be. You have no qualms disturbing the Amporas, especially because they are not the ones mourning today.

 

There’s a brief burst of shouting behind the door before Cronus Ampora swings the door open. His crooked looking smile drops when he sees the two of you, maybe because he was expecting someone his own age. As if any female would want to come within 20 feet of Cronus Ampora; you would actually commend Terezi for her bravery if she didn’t already know. He runs a set of spindly fingers through his slick-backed hair, not nearly as heavily decorated as Eridan’s, you note. “Danny!” he calls in a grating voice, “You’ve got friends here!”

 

“Actually we’re just here to-” you begin, before being interrupted again.

 

“Well don’t just let ‘em stand there! Invite them inside, asshole!” You presume from the deep, harsh tone that it is their father. You don’t really know his actual first name, even though he’s been in the local news quite a few times. You’ve mostly heard him referred to as “Dualscar” Ampora. The name invokes chills, and well, you’re pretty sure that it’s supposed to. There are many, many stories as to how he acquired two running scars across his left eye, and most of them are not very pretty.

 

You and Terezi take that as a cue to step inside. You thank them. Terezi says they have a lovely home, which you find to be pretty funny. 

 

Eridan Ampora descends from the steps after a moment, shouting, “Cro what the hell I ain’t expectin’ any-” He stops, registers your presence, and turns to rush back up the stairs. You find it strange how he bothers to wear a scarf in his own house, even stranger that he’s wearing it in conjunction with shorts. You suppose, though, that he has no real obligation to conform to your fashion standards. Come to think of it, dropping by his house uninvited is rather rude, regardless of how much of a dick he is.

 

“Danny, don’t be an ass!” calls his dead, “Get back down here and say hi to your friends!”

 

“They’re not my friends!” he yells back.

 

“Oooh, that’s cold,” Cronus remarks, still leaning against the wall. After looking Terezi up and down for a moment he adds, “You’re missin’ out on somethin’ real sweet.”

 

You always feel so gross around Cronus, slimy or something. You’re just glad Terezi doesn’t have to see how his eyes are carving in to her, violating some sort of privacy of hers. You slip your arm into hers protectively. “C’mon Eridan,” you call nervously, “We just want to talk for two minutes. We’ll be gone right after we’re done.”

 

“Get out of my goddamn house!” he yells in return. God, he’s going to be great to work with. You can already tell.

 

“We’ll just stay for a while then,” Terezi responds. You find it a little strange that neither Cronus nor Dualscar has actually asked why the two of you are here, or how you know Eridan. The fact that you’re trying to pin a murder on them without any proof is enough to boot the two of you out of their house, but you guess that Dualscar is too busy cursing at his children and Cronus is too busy hitting on blind girls two years younger than himself to actually care why you’re here.

 

From his position on the couch, Dualscar coaxes, “Just go up to his room. He’s just being pissy today.” It’s unfortunate that he hasn’t yet turned his head to face you, because you actually did want to take a gander at his face. You’ve only seen the black and white pictures in the papers. You bet they’re grosser up close and in color. What? Since when did curiosity become a crime? If you could just manage to get a glance before you go, you’d be satisfied.

 

You guide Terezi up the stairs, thoroughly unprepared for what Eridan’s room may look like, and his guardian’s seemingly apathetic approach to raising him. In all honestly, that may explain why he’s such a jackass. It’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation. You have to remember that some people don’t always have the same advantages as you, even though they may seem like it on the outside. No amount of expensive pants and golden rings are going to make your life any better, just prettier to an onlooker. In one brief moment navigating the decorated hallways outside of Eridan’s bedroom, you feel sorry for him. It is a fleeting moment.

 

Terezi brings her heavy knuckles down on the door. She’s always so steady, so sure of herself. How does she even know she’s going to hit the door right each time when she can’t see it? You suppose it’s one of those things you can just feel. Besides, she’s never messed it up before.

 

“If I answer,” you hear from behind the door, “will you two fuckin’ leave my house?”

 

“Of course,” responds Terezi, “if you cooperate.”

 

He cracks the door open a sliver, putting his eye on level with Terezi’s. He spares only a short second looking at you, but it feels longer. It feels more significant to you than you know it actually is. He moves his eyes back to Terezi, bright and blue as ever. “That sounds like a threat.”

 

“It’s not,” says Terezi casually picking her nails, “if you cooperate.”

 

He swings his door open quickly and stands outside his room, like he didn’t want you to see it. He must have done it for you, because Terezi couldn’t even see it if she cared. All you saw was that it was painted a smooth shade of violet. That’s strange, a violet room. Much more interesting than the standard beiges and greys that cover the rest of the place. You find yourself harboring an awful lot of curiosity about the Amporas tonight, shady and secretive like they are. You wonder if they are hiding anything about Kurloz Makara.

 

He mutters, “We’re doin’ whatever this here is on my terms. Outside.”

 

You protest, “Your house is so nice th-”

 

“Outside,” He states definitively, not sparing you so much as a glance. He plows ahead the two of you down the spiral staircase and out the door. He’s very good at ignoring his father when he yells and asks him where he’s going, but you think you might get to be good at ignoring Dualscar too if you had to live with him. Everyone deals with their respective burdens differently. You used to get upset for days after Mituna had one of his meltdowns, but now you just go into your room and put on your record player. You learned the hard way that you can’t save everybody, so you’ve learned to ignore it.

 

“Terezi, you look fuckin’ cold,” starts Eridan, leaning against the blue-painted front door. “D’you… d’you want a jacket or something?” It has gotten quite a bit colder since the morning; you can see a few lighting bugs already coming out in the Ampora yard. Terezi doesn’t look exactly cold, though, despite her short dress. She’s tougher than anyone you’ve ever met when it comes to that stuff. Almost everything, really.

 

You joke, “What, no offer for me?” You can’t quite explain it, but you like putting him on edge. Egging him on, making him angry at you, that stuff gives you a little bit of a rush. It may be just because it’s so easy with Eridan, but it may also be just because it’s Eridan.

 

He shakes his head calmly, “Shut it, Captor. I was just tryin’ to be nice to the lady over here, but I guess that went to waste.”

 

“Damn, just the lady?” you tease, “That’s so sexist, Eridan.”

 

“Well, I’m not havin’ the likes of you wearin’ one of my sweatshirts.” He takes a step towards you, trying to be threatening. God, he’s so easy to piss off!

 

You put your hand over your heart and feign, “Oh, I’m insulted! You’ve really got me!”

 

Terezi steps between the two of you, pushing you away. “If you guys want to make out or something, I’m sure it can wait until after we’re done with official business. Then I won’t have to be subjected to it.

 

“Pyrope, you’re disgustin’,” Eridan mutters, stepping back. “We can sit on my back porch if you want.”

 

“What the fuck TZ?” you whisper, just loud enough for Eridan to hear. It’s just one of those reasserting-your-masculinity things that every guy has to do when it’s challenged. Of course, you’d admit than you and Eridan got pretty close to each other there, and you’re glad that Terezi shut it down before it went any further. You and Terezi follow dutifully through the gate to Eridan’s unnecessarily large backyard. There comes a point where something luxurious just turns into something ostentatious. 

 

“Now tell me, Mr. Plum Pudding, what’s this place look like?” Terezi calls out to Eridan. You cringe at her nickname for him.

 

“Plum Pudding?” he asks, “Is that me?”

 

She nods, “Yes!”

 

“Eh,” he says shrugging, “It’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.” You’re actually pretty certain that you’re responsible for calling him the worst thing he’s ever been called. That or his dad; that doesn’t sit right with you, though. At least when you give him hell you know that he deserves it. Nobody deserves hell from their own families. “I don’t know Terezi, it’s big. And green. Big and green.” He guides her to a chair on his patio, a lot more gently than you would expect from Eridan. He then offers you a chair before sitting down himself, directly across from you.

 

“You’re very bad at describing yards,” Terezi remarks, “let’s hope you’re a little better at describing people. How about you tell us what you know about Kurloz Makara.”

 

You pull a fresh piece of paper and your pen from the case file, ready to write.

 

Eridan is visibly taken aback. “Terezi what the hell? You know that guy just turned up dead.”

 

“Exactly,” she says, “where were you when that happened, hmm? Care to tell us what you were up to last night? Or were you too busy slicing up his cold, dead, body!”

 

Eridan stands up and pushes back his chair. “Are you accusin’ me of murder, Pyrope!? I didn’t know you had such damn gall! Get off my fuckin’ property, or I’m callin’ the cops on both of you!”

 

You stand up and try to calm him down. Of course Terezi has to play the bad cop card right off the bat, leaving you with the role of good cop. “No, no, she’s not accusing you of anything. Please, hear me out for a second.”

 

Still fuming, he says, “Why should I?”

 

“You know it wasn’t a suicide. We all know. We’re just trying to figure out the facts first, and this is your opportunity to let us know just how un-guilty you are. Trust me,” you plead. There was something in his eyes when he stood up, something so utterly hurt and real, that you just can’t think he’s guilty. Maybe his scumbag brother carved up Kurloz, but it sure as hell wasn’t Eridan, as much as it pains you to admit. You are good at detecting insincerities and picking out fakes. Eridan, even with all his ugly-jewels-buying, bible-thumping, shitty-poem-writing, passive-aggressive-insult-saying tendencies, is one of the more surface-level honest people that you’ve met. He is sincere about his insincerities. When you see that facade of his drop for a moment, when he lets you see the fire behind his eyes, the fire that only you can see, you think for a moment that you might follow him to the end of the earth and back. You only find yourself thinking this for a moment.

 

He slowly sinks back into his seat. “I didn’t have much to do with the guy.”

 

“Tell us what you know,” Terezi prods. Your case depends on getting as many testimonies together as possible. Terezi likes to describe criminal justice like a puzzle; you have to have all the pieces before you even think of putting them together.

 

Eridan sighs and leans his elbow on the table. The gem on his pinky ring reflects sunlight into your eyes in a way that kind of pisses you off. Who wears that many rings just sitting around their house? “I- I dunno. He was a big guy. Real big, but you guys know that. It wasn’t just that he was big though, he was scary as hell. You know my brother? What an asshole he is about girls?”

 

“Yeah,” you respond, remembering how uneasy you felt with him around Terezi. He grosses you out.

 

“Well, he didn’t even try n’ touch Meulin. It ain’t ‘cause he didn’t think she was hot, ‘cause he does.” He rolls his eyes and adds, “believe me. It’s just that ‘ol Kurloz scared the shit outta him. You know Cronus is the kinda guy that ain’t got no boundaries when it comes to people, but Kurloz was his boundary. He kinda scared me, too. I mean, when I saw him and all. But bein’ scared of someone ain’t no reason to murder them. I mean, that’s like, less of a reason if ya’ ask me.” He twiddles his thumbs for a minute, and you let him. You’re mesmerized by the way the light keeps shifting with every little movement of his hands. Each movement creates its own sunrise, sunset, all within its own little universe. It’s nice to think, if just for a moment that nothing you do exactly matters in the greater scheme of things. Perhaps your only purpose in life is to watch sunlight bounce off of golden rings. “You know our dads didn’t like each other too much, the whole thing on the political scene, but I don’t see why anyone’d bother goin’ after his kid.”

 

“Yes, of course,” concedes Terezi, “but would you mind telling us a bit about the political feud anyways?”

 

“I don’t see the relevance but, I guess if it’s gonna convince you that we didn’t fuckin’ do anythin’. It’s just their jobs is all, they’re politicians. I don’t know how much you dingbats follow the news, but they’re both runnin’ for mayor. I mean, it’s gotten a little nasty at some points, mostly on Makara’s side, but that’s politics. The last thing either of ‘em needed was a scandal like this.”

 

“Can you give us any solid alibis?” Terezi asks.

 

He nods, hesitantly. “I can tell you I was in my room. I went to bed early for church in the morning. As far as I know Cronus and my dad stayed home. My mom’s been up at Kalamazoo this whole weekend to visit her family and such. That’s- yeah. That’s what I got. Are we done yet? This is fuckin’ dumb.”

 

“Almost,” she says, “can you tell us what you know about the Makara family as a whole?” Terezi has this examination thing down to a tee, you just let her take the reigns while you transcribe the information dutifully.

 

He sighs. “They had problems. But as far as I know, nothin’ worse than everybody else has in their families.” He avoids eye contact with you when he mentions that, because that’s how he got all bloodied up last time. You wouldn’t have punched him out this time, though. You doubt that you ever would again, because you’ve made your point. No one makes fun of Mituna. You would rather his eyes not be so empty, though, when he says that, like he believes everything is supposed to be as terrible as it is. It makes you feel sad for him, sad for Eridan fucking Ampora of all people. “You know about the mom, how she, yeah-”

 

“Died.” You say, cutting him off. You hate it when people use euphemisms for death. It is what it is and everybody has to do it sometime. In a murder case especially it’s better not to dance around the word.

 

“Yeah, she died when they were real young,” he says relieved, “and the dad’s got this big career, you know, never home too much. Past that I don’t know, ‘cept that Kurloz never talked and Gamzee’s never sober. You know about Gamzee, though. I don’t know exactly what he does, just that it’s not right. Whatever that kid’s doin’ to himself, that’s against God.”

 

“Well, technically,” you say, “God did make the world for man, and that might include all of the various plants on the Earth used to make-”

 

He snaps, “Don’t make fun of my religion, Captor.” There it is, that fire you like. There’s something so magnificently alive and challenging there. When he’s angry, he looks the same kind of way Aradia used to look when she was excited. He puts his walls back up too quickly, though. “Did you guys want to know anything else or can I go back inside?”

 

“We never told you to come outside in the first place,” Terezi points out. “But for now, no. We’ll drop by again sometime if we have new leads.”

 

The ‘we’ll’ part doesn’t sit right with you. You’d rather have your eyes gouged out than watch Cronus check out Terezi again. You resolve to meet Eridan the next time alone, if there even has to be a next time. You’re not completely sure of Cronus or Dualscar, but Eridan seems to be pretty innocent in your mind. At least of this particular crime.

 

Eridan’s lip quirks up. “Drop by for lunch some time, will ya’?”

 

You uncomfortably nod, scraping the case file into your hands and standing up. You’re not quite sure why you would ever set up a voluntary date with Eridan Ampora for something like lunch. Eridan is only worth seeing when he’s angry. Of course, when he’s angry, he’s really worth seeing. “Yeah, sounds nice,” you mutter, more for his sake than anyone else’s. You’re not even sure if that invitation wasn’t just ironic, like Dave Strider’s classic pseudo-invitations to his weekly book club.

 

As Terezi begins to feel her way down the yard with her cane, you glance at Eridan one last time. It may be inappropriate, but you ask, “Hey, man, how did your dad get those scars on his face?” It was totally out of the blue, but it was just killing you not to know.

 

Eridan smirks. “That seems a little personal for a visit like this, don’t ya’ think?” And he sends you on your way. You may be misinterpreting this, but it feels as if he’s inviting you back to his house sometime. You do not plan to take him up on this offer.


	7. SH3 S33S ST4RS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the next chapter has to be in Solluxs perspective because it heavily relies on sight so honestly this is a filler chapter but I think it does give some background on Terezi and I kind of liked the way it turned out. Next chapter has actual plot progression I promise

Latula always knows enough to get by. You’ve got to be assertive, but you’re not supposed to act like a boy. Dress pretty, but not pretty enough to get called slutty. Be smart enough in school, but not smart enough to be a dweeb. She says sometimes that if you want to get by, you’re not really supposed to be you. You’ve decided that if that is the case you don’t really want to get by in the sense that she proposes.

 

She’s better than you. She’s not exactly,though, because she’s not you. She’s not her, either, at least when anybody else is around. You remember a night about a month after Mituna’s accident, once he woke up and all and she had to break off her relationship with him. She said it wasn’t good for either of them to stay with him just because she felt sorry for him. You walked into her room that night and she was crying like they cry in the movies, all soft and sad. She isn’t loud when she cries, like most people just get so loud when they cry and scream and sniff. ‘It’s really hard,’ she said simply, ‘it’s really hard to keep doing this,’ and you left. She was very happy again the next morning, the same better version of herself she presents. Except that time, that time you knew how fake it was. The unfortunate trend you see the older you get is that people’s lives aren’t really as great as they say they are.

 

She sits next to you for dinner like she does every night. You know she’s there because she lets her left knee lean against yours, like she always does. It’s a sign of reassurance, a sign of normality in this dark world. She eats the pasta your father cooked so steadily, just loud enough for you to hear her fork tap the edge of her plate each time.

 

“Terezi, don’t slurp your food,” your father chastises, “It’s disgusting.”

 

“Alright,” you respond. You try to eat more slowly. It never works; you are always a disgusting eater.

 

You will most likely never not be a disgusting eater, because you are fifteen and you have not grown out of it. You’re mom thought you might grow out of a lot of things that you never quite did. It really is too bad that you can’t ever be as good as Latula is. Perhaps you just have to surround yourself with people who don’t mind the sounds of slurping spaghetti.

 

Sollux doesn’t mind, but you think that’s just because he’s used to you. Sometimes he’s too nice about your blindness, and you hate it. You hate his pity. You hate everyone’s pity. You hate pity especially when it disguises itself as kindness.

 

Vriska Serket was never kind, but at least she never pitied you. She saw you as her equal to the bitter end, even when she pushed you into a fucking campfire. If that’s not the exact opposite of pity, you don’t know what is. She never pitied anyone, though, not even people who deserved it. You’ll say right now that Tavros Nitram deserved a lot more pity than she gave him; two broken legs twisted and bleeding where she pushed him out of a tree because he refused to jump. The next day she ended up emptying Aradia’s brains just because she tried to stand up for him. You ended up breaking Vriska’s arm, and she gave you second degree burns in return, but you still covered for her. You don’t know why you covered for her, because she really deserved to get in trouble. If she turns out to be Kurloz’s killer, you promise yourself that you will not cover for her again.

 

“How’s your dinner, honey?” asks your mother. You are not sure if she is referring to you or Latula. She calls everyone honey, but she usually doesn’t make that mistake with you and your sister. You believe that she is on edge today because of the events that transpired just this morning. As a lawyer, and a female lawyer at that, she may very well feel the pressure of persecuting the killer once they are caught. As if the police haven’t already closed the case. Your mother strikes you as another one of those beautiful fakers. It’s all of them, working so hard to create this fabricated world where everything makes sense all the time.

 

“Delicious,” you say. Your meal is average, but there’s no reason to say that. It wouldn’t accomplish anything but make everyone feel bad.

 

“How’s Sollux?” your father asks, as if you don’t know what he’s going to ask next.

 

“He’s fine,” you reply, stabbing a meatball with your fork, “just the same as always.”

 

Your father nods and chew for a moment. “How’s his brother doing?”

 

You shake your head. “I didn’t see him today. But he’s fine. Sollux said he was fine.” You can’t quite fathom everyone’s interest of the bleak and depressing. Murder mysteries are different, because there’s still some justice to be dealt. Talking about Mituna Captor now a days is just redundant, and frankly, intrusive.

 

You remember that none of the kids you met with today asked Sollux about Mituna, even Equius Zahhak. You figure that’s more of an adult thing to do.

 

“It’s sad about Kurloz,” Latula offers. It’s so forced with your family now a days. It makes you sadder than you could ever properly articulate, in that special way that growing apart always makes you sad.

 

You remember a time when you and Vriska were each others best friends, your only lifelines. The only thing either one of you needed. You suggested once that the two of you should just run away and live together on the road, then you’d be happy for the rest of your life. Once in a while, when you get very sad, you wish that you didn’t play it off as a joke when she laughed at you. You miss her a lot when you manage to forget how cruel she really is. When you see her, though, you hate her. You push the spaghetti to the edges of your plate to make it look like you’ve eaten more than you did.

 

Your mother responds solemnly, “It’s very sad, alright. I’m sure that the Makaras will schedule the funeral within a week or so. We’ll go if you’d like, Latula.”

 

“Yes,” Latula says after a moment of hesitation, “I think I’d like to. He was in my class at school and everything. I just think- I think I’d like to have closure.”

 

“May I be excused?” you interrupt, pushing your plate forward. If everything turns out correctly, Kurloz’s killer will have a set court date before the funeral. You don’t want to be pulled into the emotional bits of it. Closure is putting the killer behind bars, not shedding tears over a cold body in a casket. 

 

“Terezi,” your father says with a sigh, “yes, Terezi. Just put your plate on the counter.” The way he says that, with such disappointment, reminds you yet again that you are not the favorite child. You will never be the favorite child when you cannot even clear off your own plate. They don’t expect you to, and you hate it. 

 

When you get back into your room, you put on your record player. Your mother bought you the new Beatles album when it was released, even though they aren’t your favorite. A lot of their stuff is upbeat and easy to dance to, which is just what you intend on doing: dancing.

 

You let A Hard Day’s Night play softly as your new vinyl spins around and around. Your family is very careful about keeping your floor clean for you; you don’t like it, but it does allow you some space on your floor you would not normally have. You hate to admit that being babied does have its perks sometimes. A few steps with each foot, loud enough to make a distinctive tap but quiet enough so that your parents don’t hear it. You like to swing your arms with your dress, just getting lost in whatever music is playing. You usually like to sing along, but you don’t know the words to this record yet. You quietly hum along, missing cues and syncopations here and there. You don’t care though, because you’re all alone, and you don’t have to worry about living up to anyone’s standards when you’re alone. A light breeze blows through your window, and you wonder if it’s dark enough to see the stars yet.

 

Many people have described stars to you. They must be special, because everyone tries to describe them in a different way. They are golden sprinkles on black ice cream (Nepeta), or spilled paint on blank canvas (Kanaya). They are fairies (Tavros), balls of galactic fire (Karkat, the preacher’s son), glimpses of the past (pre-accident Aradia) or, your personal favorite, an alien etch-a-sketch (Sollux). When you asked Vriska, she told you something so un-Vriska-like that you were physically taken aback. She said they looked like hope. You have never heard her say anything as innocent or beautiful before or since. You truly don’t believe that she is capable of it.

 

It’s seven o’clock and you’re not sure if the stars have come out yet. They always do, it’s just a matter of waiting a few hours more on summer nights. No matter how much of a mess we all happen to make of ourselves, the stars will shine over us every night. You don’t know if you find it comforting or scary, that these ancient arbitrarily placed fireballs in the sky come to watch you each night and then leave. 

You cross to your window as the next song comes on. You don’t remember the title, but it’s catchy enough. The breeze is warm and gentle enough to make you think that it’s still light out, but just barely. Perhaps it’s God that comes to watch over people in your town each night, and the stars are his eyes. He doesn’t watch his people go to church or school or grocery shopping in the day, he watches them cry and dance and kill under the cover of his stars. Then each morning he leaves as quietly as he came with them to watch over somebody else.


	8. 2omethiing2 amii22

You suppose you must take your sight for granted sometimes, because Terezi is so awed by the tiniest little details in life. She swears, that when you put a firefly gingerly in her hands, that she can feel it light up. You wouldn’t believe her if she wasn’t right each time.

 

“How much longer?” she asks you calmly. It’s strange how unbothered she is by sneaking out into the woods at night. Especially the woods where someone was murdered just the night before. Terezi probably lives off in her own little dream all the time, only emerging to bring those she deems worthy to justice. It must be nice.

 

“We’re almost there, TZ.”

 

“You shouldn’t worry if we run into the killer,” she explains, “because I’d take him down with my cane no problem.” She hits you with her red cane playfully in the knee.

 

“Yeah, alright,” you say sarcastically. If the killer could’ve taken down a practical giant, you don’t know why Terezi thinks she and her cane would have a chance against him. In the event of a rendezvous, the best course of action would be to run as fast as your legs can take you. You find yourself regretting that you didn’t take your father’s gun with you, as if sneaking out to solve a murder at midnight wasn’t already bad enough.

 

She smirks. “What, you don’t believe me? I would’ve thought you of all people, Sollux Captor, would have a little faith in me and my cane.” She slams you a little harder in the knee, making it hurt this time. You only cringe because you know she can’t see it. She mutters, “I could take down anybody with this baby.”

 

“TZ,” you sigh, “trust me on this. If I say run, you don’t ask any questions, don’t let go of my arm, and you just fucking run, alright?” You hate acting like a parent to her, because you don’t feel like it’s your role. You’ll do it when it comes down to keeping her safe, though. You don’t want your actions or lack thereof to ever result in Terezi getting hurt.

 

She kicks the ground. “You’re such a dumb killjoy, Appleberry blast. You don’t even deserve the blast part, you know that?”

 

“Yeah, I know,” you concede, “I’m just the worst, aren’t I? Thank you for privileging with such a fun and undeserved nickname. I don’t know what I’d do if you called me something boring like, gasp! Sollux! How awful!”

 

“Oh, well, you don’t deserve something that bad, Appleberry blast. It’s just my kind and generous nature,” she responds.

 

“Alright,” you say, defeated. The thing about Terezi is that you can’t change her. She’s going to say whatever she wants, and you admire her for it. You think you spend a little too much time saying things just to avoid making too many people dislike you. “Oh, we’re here.” The place looks the same as it did this morning, sans rotting corpse, except for the dark overcast of the stars and moon. It’s strange how different lighting can make something so much more sinister; you suddenly understand the appeal of those old black and white horror films. The particular lack of color makes you feel ill at ease.

 

You drag on Terezi’s arm to bring her closer to the creek. She squirms away and mutters, “Sollux let me go, I’m not a baby.”

 

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll call out for you if we need to go quick, okay?” You hesitantly slip your arm out of hers. The first place you want to look for clues is right by the river bank. As if the scene wasn’t eerie enough, you can still see dried blood in the dirt by the stream.

 

Terezi wanders around for a moment, getting her footing. She crosses to the cherry tree that she’s so fond of by the creek, still ripe with red fruit. “We should have a code word, you know, so they don’t figure out our names and stuff. I say we do a bird call.”

 

“I can’t do a bird call.” You kneel by the river and find some of Kurloz’s hair matted in the stream. “Let’s just do a whistle. Or some normal human-ish sound.”

 

“No, c’mon,” she says, plucking a few cherries off of the tree, “you just have to shape your lips like…” she scrunches up her face and continues, “like this! Coo, coo, coo…”

 

“It looks like there was a struggle, and a pretty sizeable one at that,” you observe. The dried blood and bits of hair can be traced well down the stream. “It must’ve been gruesome.”

 

Terezi asks, “What do you see? You don’t need to go into too much detail, just the facts.”

 

“Hair and blood.”

 

“Hair!” she says with surprise, “Hmm, we’re looking for a tall attacker, then. Or a team. Someone small wouldn’t have been able to take him down all alone.”

 

“Damara and Meenah are both small,” you offer, “But I could see either of them teaming with each other or Cronus Ampora. Hell, Meenah or her Mom could’ve gotten some top level assassins on his case.”

 

Terezi scratches her chin. “Guilty until proven innocent. We have to talk to them and check out their alibis before making any assumptions about this case. For now, let’s assume everyone is still a suspect in their own right. The respective size of our fateful attacker should by no means be treated as a definitive yet, only a small lead.” She spits out a cherry pit in the creek, and you hear a small clink against something metallic. “What was that?”

 

You kneel down beside the creek, and dip your hand into the cool running water. “Terezi, there’s no way this was a professional job.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

You pull the thing out of the water, rusted and still just a little bloody. “A pro wouldn’t have left the murder weapon. Besides, it’s a dumb little pocket knife. No pro would use a pocket knife.”

 

“A pocket knife?” she says, “Sounds like a backup. Perhaps their gun misfired.”

 

“Okay,” you argue, “assuming they’d have access to a gun in the first place, someone would’ve heard the shots.”

 

“Sollux Captor, do you have bees in your brains?” She playfully knocks on your head, “There wouldn’t have been a shot if it couldn’t fire! The killer must’ve panicked and ended up remembering the gun but forgetting the pocket knife.”

 

You scowl. Didn’t Terezi just say a moment ago not to make assumptions? You’re just attempting to question some of her ludacris theories.Give her a bloody knife, and she’ll spin you a story for miles. “Let’s just keep going. It looks like this is where they get away from the creek.” You grab her hand and instruct, “Mind your step crossing the creek. Don’t get your feet wet.”

 

“He must have gotten stabbed for the last time here and fallen into the creek, maybe moved downstream a bit. Tell me, is there more blood?”

 

“Yeah, there’s stuff leading to the creek. I think you’re right. If we find the source of the blood-”

 

She interrupts, “Then we find the source of the initial conflict.” It feels like you’re not actually doing to much to help the progression of the case except functioning as Terezi’s eyes. Perhaps that’s how it ought to be, this is her forte, not yours. “We can talk to the rest of the suspects tomorrow, call Rose Lalonde to divide and conquer if we need to. Man, I wish we could have access to some kind of autopsy! It’s like everything in this case is working against us.”

 

“I think we’re making okay progress without the police,” you tell Terezi. Honestly, it’s a little hopeless at this point, because all you two are figuring out are the things that didn’t happen, and not the thing that did. That would only discourage her, though. While you’re never anything but a pessimist, Terezi is a staunch optimist. Sometimes you have to give her little optimistic concessions to keep her going, though. There’s nothing sadder than seeing someone who’s always happy lose hope.

 

As you trace the source of the blood together, Terezi asks, “So what did Eridan say to you?”

 

“Nothing that he didn’t say to you,” you retort a bit defensively.

 

“No, no, when we were leaving. You and him said something that I couldn’t hear. You know, it’s practically a crime to withhold information about our chief suspect.”

 

“Hey, hold up,” you say stopping, “what makes you think he’s our chief suspect?”

 

She giggles. “Well, he’s the only one we’ve actually talked to, shit for brains. So c’mon, what did he say? If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume that it was a graphic declaration of his undying love for you.”

 

“Shit, TZ, what the hell? I just asked him about his dad’s scars and shit, ‘cause everyone wants to know, right? And then he made some off-handed comment about it not being my business. Typical snarky Ampora horse shit.” You leave out that little invitation to come around for lunch sometime, and the implication that he might tell you about his father’s scars then. It’s not like Terezi needs to know anything that might bring her back within fifty feet of Cronus Ampora’s slimy hands. You don’t even plan to take him up on it. You don’t. If you go back for a second investigation into Cronus’ involvement, you’ll ask him then. Or else you’ll live with not knowing.

 

“What do you think about him, anyways?” she asks.

 

You say instinctively, “He’s a piece of shit.”

 

“No, I mean in terms of the investigation.”

 

You ponder for a moment. You remember how he denied those allegations in a way that made you want to believe him so much, or made you forget you hated him for a minute. You heard his God-awful father shout at him, and you thought you could watch the light bounce off of his rings for the rest of your life. There was something so unfortunately insignificant about him, something too human to keep any kinds of secrets from anybody. Those aren’t things you just say and understand, though. You don’t even think you understand your thoughts, only that you intrinsically know that he’s completely un-guilty. “I don’t think he did it. I don’t know though, there’s just no proof.”

 

“No proof is why we dig deeper, Appleberry blast! How many times do I have to tell you, guilty until proven innocent! I think one of these days we should pay him and his brother another visit, and maybe we could actually snoop around their house for a bit. Find some concrete proof of something besides Eridan’s word.”

 

“We’ll talk about it,” you respond. It looks as if this is where the blood stops. A small puddle here, and a grisly looking splatter against a nearby tree. “This is where it ends, TZ. A puddle here, and some on the tree.”

 

“On a tree, hmm?” She moves to it, and places her hands on the bark. You’re not quite sure how she instinctually knows where to trace the bloodstains, but she does. Terezi knows a lot of things that no one else seems to know. “I think he was hit with a blunt object. Or someone was. Quick, Sollux, do you remember what Kurloz’s face looked like when we found him?”

 

It was only this morning, but it feels like an eternity has gone by since you saw Kurloz in the creek. You put the knife you had been holding back into your pocket, and take a moment to fully appreciate the eeriness of the place. You’re standing in a clearing where a boy was murdered merely a day ago. A chill rushes over you, so you let it take it’s course. You feel your entire body shiver for a moment. “The scratches and stab wounds were mostly down his body. I may be wrong, but I didn’t see much of anything on his face except for signs of drowning.”

 

She nearly yells, “Aha!”

 

“Terezi, shut up!” you scold. Since she can’t, you scan the area for prospective murderers. You tug her arm away from the tree in case you need to run.

 

She smirks and swats you away. “Don’t you see? This is the killers blood. Kurloz was a well-built guy; there’s no way he didn’t try to fight back, at least with his fists. So we’re looking for someone who has some type of physical wound that would’ve left a small mark of blood on the tree…”

 

You pipe up, “Cronus had a wicked looking gash on his forehead. We’ll have to figure out tomorrow who else might fit the description. I think-” You stop dead in your tracks when you hear leaves rustling. It may have been the wind, but you didn’t feel wind. You feel scared half to death now, convinced that your body and Terezi’s will be the next two to turn up in the creek, hand in hand. “Terezi,” you whisper, “let’s get out of here.”

 

“You spook so easy, Appleberry. But we’ve got a good lead.” She slips her arm in yours and calls, “You hear that? We’ve got a good lead! You’re not off the hook, you little asshole! Justice never loses!”

At this point, you’re nearly dragging Terezi away from the clearing with the bloody tree. You think that you hear a small laugh, someone mocking you in the distance. Perhaps it’s only the wind.


	9. TH3 SW33T SM3LL OF 4N OLD V3ND3TT4

You don’t have to ask how the Serket house looks; you know how it looks. You know the way up their long, winding driveway. You know where the cracks are and where the weeds stem up that Vriska’s mother never bothered to kill. You know where the old dead garden is that didn’t use to be dead when she moved in; she didn’t always walk over it and it wasn’t always filled with rocks. Little white and grey rocks, to be exact. You know exactly where the knocker is on the door, and you grasp it tightly. You don’t knock, though, at least for a minute.

 

You remember the first time you stood here, when Vriska Serket brought you home from school to show her mother and she said that she had made a friend. She said your name was Terezi and that you were blind. You think that it might’ve been some kind of ultimatum from her mother that she had to bring home at least one new friend before her first month of school was out. That didn’t matter to you, though, because she took you up to her room and the two of you played and had fun for a really long time. She treated you like you were her equal, and you loved that.

 

“Terezi, are you going to knock?” Sollux asks, standing a few safe feet behind you.

 

“What?” you respond, pulled out of your memory, “Oh, yeah, sorry.” You knock firmly on the Serket door. After exactly eight seconds it swings open; it does not hit you in the face, but you can feel the breeze from it.

 

“Terezi Pyrope!” barks Vriska Serket, “I didn’t think I’d see your sorry mug around here today! And you brought a… ahem… friend.”

 

You force a smile, even though you suddenly feel like you want to rip her smug throat out. “Vriska, you know Sollux. And don’t worry, we’re here strictly for business. If you’d be as kind to invite us inside, we’ll be gone before you know it.”

 

She cackles. “Business, huh? Like deciding which one of you is the biggest asshole? C’mon, now, you know you can’t expect me to judge something like that!”

 

Before you can reel your sudden anger in, Sollux responds. “Not quite like that, Vriska. Business kind of like how you managed to get that pretty shiner of yours.” After a moment, he adds, “I really think it would be in your best interest to cooperate with us.”

 

You can feel the tension in the air. If you had a knife on you, you could cut it in half like a slice of cake. You can hear your own breath come in and out in quick and shallow cycles.

 

She sneers, “What happens if I don’t?”

 

Sollux adds, without missing a beat, “I don’t think that you want to find out.”

 

She must know that he’s bluffing. Nothing would happen to her; it’s not like the two of you actually have legal affiliations. She must know that. You suppose that now she just has to decide whether or not it would be in her best interest to humor the two of you. After all, that busted eye of hers does rocket her to the top of your suspect list, right along with Cronus Ampora.

 

Surprisingly, she invites the two of you inside. She’s calm, but not defeated. Even if it seems like you’re winning against Vriska, she’s always just a few steps ahead of everyone else.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she begins, guiding you to a table in her all too familiar living room, “that my mother is here. This is just where she reads the news, is all.”

 

Oh she’s smart! Smarter than Eridan was, anyways. If her mother’s here, you can’t ask her any difficult questions. What a fucking sneak! She’s giving herself the perfect opportunity to construct a story for her case file without incriminating herself. You remember why you loved Vriska Serket once. Even if she’s evil to her core, she’s so damn smart, so interesting, that it’s too hard for you to rip yourself away.

 

“Alright,” Sollux says, not seeming phased, “before we get started, how did you end up getting a black eye, Vriska? It looks like it really hurts.”

 

She says quietly, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

 

With a scoff her mother adds, “She wouldn’t tell me either!”

 

You smirk so that she can see, and you raise your one eyebrow. You know that she hates when you do that. “Oh, Vriska, we’re only concerned about you! If only you told us, we could be able to help…”

 

She leans in a little bit closer to you and mutters, “You know that I don’t have to tell you jack shit, Pyrope. So I suggest you get on with whatever this little charade is and leave.”

 

Her words, so hostile, so close to you, send an electric shock through your blood. You whisper, “You’re off to a killer start.” You know that must make her furious. “Now let’s get down to business.”

 

Sollux begins, still calm in his demeanor, “Well, you’ve probably heard the bad news about Kurloz Makara. Terezi and I thought we’d try to make up some kind of tribute to him with stories of people who knew him. If you would be so kind as to tell us a little bit about yours or Aranea’s relationship with Kurloz that would be very helpful to us.” He’s quick on his feet, and you’re glad that the two of you are solving this case together. There’s something about Vriska that just turns you into a mess. She gives off an aura, or maybe it’s the scent of the strawberry perfume, that makes all of you turn into orange jello. Specifically orange, because orange is the color of uncertainty and change. You think of sunrises and sunsets, stuck in the limbo between night and day. You think of the sun in the sky, just far enough away to keep us from burning but close enough to keep us from freezing. Your mind near Vriska is stuck in between love and hatred, never settling for an uneasy apathy. As if you even know the meaning of such a gray and dingy word.

 

You know that she’s caught off guard. Perhaps it’s because she didn’t expect two kids from her own grade in school to figure out that she was guilty of murder so quickly after it happened. Maybe she’s just sensitive, but you both know that’s not true. The burn marks on your back like tree branches, Tavros’s scars up and down his legs, Aradia’s stitches that never quite faded; all of those marks she’s left let you know that she’s not opposed to shedding a little blood. Now you only need to figure out why she would need to.

 

“I barely knew him. I barely knew Gamzee, either, like anybody did. My sister wasn’t close with him, or Meulin either. When I heard about him, though, it was only good things. Of course, my sister’s only full of good things to say. If you ever need a friend to speak on his behalf, besides Meulin of course, I’m sure that my sister would be-”

 

“Bullshit,” you interrupt quietly. Usually you’d make a scene, but you don’t want her mother to hear.

 

Vriska coaxes, “What? I couldn’t hear you, Pyrope. A little louder?”

 

You inch closer to her face over the coffee table. “I said: bull-fucking-shit. Like hell you don’t know anything about that boy.”

 

“Why? Do you?” She asks. She thinks that she’s beaten you. Why would you know anything about Makara? Why would you even take an interest in something like this?

 

“Well,” you return with a grin, “Some of us care more than others to uncover the truth. There must have been a reason he died so unfortunately soon. And I’m not too comfortable with that reason walking around this neighborhood.”

 

“Are you accusing me of something?” She asks coolly. She knows if any of you lose your cool, it’s over for the both of you. You don’t quite think that Vriska Serket is quite done having fun with you.

 

“Absolutely not,” Sollux answers. You had forgotten he was here as well. Perhaps it is a side effect of blindness, but more likely, it’s a side effect of Vriska Serket. He asks, “Can you tell us anything specific about Kurloz? Anything at all would be helpful.”

 

Vriska returns, “So why are you here, Captor? I know Pyrope’s crime and punishment shtick, but what, did she drag you along? Or are you as much of an asshole as her now?” She whispers, so you can barely hear, “Did your retard brother turn you to vigilantism? That’s sweet.”

 

God, she’s so deviously smart. You were angry the minute you walked in, but as long as Sollux was calm the two of you could make progress in your investigation. He’s nearly always the calm one. You’ve seen Vriska and Sollux get in a fight before, and it started in essentially the same way. The name was ‘Aradia’ and not ‘Mituna’ that time, but it ended with a fight all the same. Sollux responds through gritted teeth and pursed lips, “You think you’re being so fucking funny, but this whole charade of yours is making you look pretty damn suspicious.”

 

“Suspicious?” she asks innocently, “suspicious of what? I thought the two of you were just trying to honor our dearly departed friend.”

 

You take a deep breath in. “Vriska, we’ll be going in one minute. Just answer this one question honestly, and that’s all I’m asking.”

 

She leans into her words, and she drips them with honey. “Oh, anything for you, Terezi.” You find yourself wishing, maybe for the only time in your life that you could see. Suddenly, when you drink in the feeling of Vriska, when you cling on her words and each of her breaths, it’s just not enough. She drives you crazy, she must know that. She must know, or else she wouldn’t keep sprinkling sugar on her words, or getting so close. She wouldn’t keep wearing that perfume that she knows you love. It’s never something you would ask, but you bet that she’s absolutely gorgeous. Not even gorgeous in that supervillain kind of way, but just really, really pretty. She is her own universe, filled with fire and stars and sunsets and oceans. You don’t even want to share her.

 

You say much more clearly than you thought you could, “Where were you on the night that Kurloz was killed?”

 

“Mom!” she calls, “Where was I two nights ago?”

 

Her mother looks up from her newspaper, “In your bedroom, the whole night!”

 

“Thank you,” you say, standing up. Sollux follows you to the door, case file in hand. “It was a pleasure as usual, Ms. Serket.”

 

Vriska says as the two of you rush out the door, “Drop by again some time! Don’t be such a stranger, Terezi!” You slam the door. You can’t think straight around that girl.

 

Right as you set foot on the driveway, you blurt, “She’s lying. For sure. If she was in her room all night, she wouldn’t have gotten a black fucking eye. That kind of shiner only comes from getting punched in the face. Vriska didn’t do that herself.”

 

“She’s definitely suspicious,” Sollux adds, “but we can’t equate that to guilt yet. Maybe Aranea punched her, or even her own damn mother. Besides, even if she did go out two nights ago, we have no motive. I say we come back soon and try to get her on motive.”

 

You kick a pebble out from under your foot. “Who’s even left to talk to. I’m tired of talking, Sollux. There’s Meenah, and there’s Porrim and Damara who didn’t do it. Vriska has to have something to do with it.” Normally you wouldn’t speak so loosely of your own justice system, but your encounter with Vriska has you on edge. She kills you, she really does. And you feel it in your gut that she had something to do with killing Kurloz.

 

Sollux grips your arm. “You forgot about the Makaras. They’re still suspects.”

 

You scrunch up your face. “Assuming we could even get anything on those slippery bastards, the dad doesn’t give a fuck one way or another, and Gamzee’s too shitfaced to do anything. He wouldn’t even want to.”

 

Sollux sighs, “I can get Rose to check out the Maryams, if you’re that opposed to it, but we’re visiting both Meenah and Damara before dinner. C’mon, Terezi, you’re the one that dragged me into this bullshit investigation to start off. Fuck me if we stop now.”

 

You smile at him, but it’s an empty smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll snap out of it.” Your words are empty too. They’re still dripping with her strawberry perfume.


	10. 2tiiche2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey just fyi if you guys don't like this that much just say the word I wont be insulted I have ideas for fluffier stuff

You couldn’t quite believe it when Meenah Peixes slammed the door in your face. You can’t say you were expecting more than a few words out of her, but you weren’t expecting total rejection. You couldn’t even get a good look at her face, so you don’t know if she had a cut or anything that would give you probable cause. You don’t remember her having one on the morning you found him, though, and she was there. The only thing you really saw, though, was Feferi Peixes’ pretty face pressed against the window as you and Terezi walked away. God, Feferi Peixes has such a pretty face.

 

When you stopped home to have lunch and use your phone, Rose Lalonde seemed perfectly willing to visit Kanaya and Porrim Maryam. She seemed downright excited, which was strange, but you didn’t think much of it. You just picked at the macaroni your mom made and thought about how glad you were that Mituna was sleeping in his room and thought about how pretty Feferi Peixes is. She has a face that looks sweet, like roses in her cheeks and sunbeams in her eyes. You thought that she must have sat by the window and wondered why you were leaving so soon, because she must get so lonely in her big house sometimes. You thought that maybe the only reason she’s Eridan’s friend is because he’s lonely, too.

 

On your way up Aradia’s driveway, which Terezi knows well, you think that everyone must be very lonely on some level. People don’t think that you can be lonely and still have a lot of friends, but that can be the most lonely. It must be lonely for Terezi to be blind with no other blind friends. It must be lonely for Feferi and Eridan and maybe even Gamzee to sit in those big houses staring at expensive things all alone. Maybe it’s lonely for Horuss Zahhak to be in love and pretend like he’s not, and it must have been lonely for Terezi to pretend to be in love with the preacher’s son when she was dating him, when she was not. You remember feeling distinctly lonely when your friends told you how sorry they were about Mituna’s accident, or even Aradia’s, because you knew they didn’t get it. But of course, there’s things about them that you’ll never quite get either.

 

“If you don’t want to talk to her,” Terezi offers, “I’m willing to go in alone. I’ve been here lots of times.” Back in their more intense role playing days, Terezi and Aradia used to be fairly close friends. She knows her way around like she knows it around Tavros or Vriska’s houses.

 

You scoff, “I can manage.” You aren’t fragile. It’s not like Aradia’s dead, just different. So there’s nothing around here that should bother you. But it does, like it bothers you to look at pictures of Mituna before his accident, or notes Aradia used to write you in class. They’re out of place now, obsolete and inconsistent. You’d burn them if you could bring yourself to part with them.

 

As usual, Terezi knocks, because she’s good at that. Someone should appoint her knocker in chief of this investigation.

 

After the sound of a commotion behind the door, Damara Megido answers with a lovely looking cut on her lower lip. It looks like it could have left at least a small blood spatter, if it was inflicted last night. She holds a cigarette daintily in her fingers, and blows smoke directly in your face before you can speak.

 

You wave it away and cough. “Excuse me, Damara, if I may call you that, we were wondering if-”

 

“Aradia!” She yells with this distinct thicker-than-mud accent. You find it strange how they’re only three years apart, but Aradia has perfect English. You know Damara can speak it, because she went to an American school and did well enough. You expressed distaste to Aradia about her sister’s refusal to speak English once, and Aradia told you that you were being racist. It frustrates you to no end, but you shut up, because you don’t want to be racist of all things. You even tried to speak to Aradia in Japanese the next day to make up for it, and she giggled and said she forgave you like she always did then tried to tell you how to say the words right.

 

God, you miss Aradia. You really fucking miss Aradia and she isn’t even dead. Mituna and Aradia aren’t dead, and you miss them, and you feel disgusting and cruel for thinking it. So that’s why these are thoughts you only think, and you never say.

 

So Damara brings you inside and everything is clean except for Damara who just smells like smoke and looks like hell. You don’t see their mother or father, but Aradia sits at the kitchen table reading some sort of non-fiction book about Machu Picchu. It’s weird seeing her so tame; she used to sit and build models of Machu Picchu and look up pictures and write essays about the people that used to live there and plan all the trips she would take around the world. Now she’s just content to read about it and that makes you feel lonely as hell.

 

As Damara leaves to do whatever she was doing before, Aradia just looks at you and Terezi, then back to you. You know she recognizes you, because she recognized you when she woke up. It’s just her old self she didn’t recognize. “What do you two want?” She asks. You hate to hear her speak. Her voice has taken on an empty quality it never had before.

 

“Just a moment of your time, madame.” Terezi answers, pulling up a chair next to Aradia. You do the same and take out a piece of paper from the case file to write.

 

“Hey AA,” you say gingerly. You don’t know why. You just hate being so formal with her. She’s just as beautiful, objectively, as she used to be. You remember when she went on adventures, and she used to wear that long black hair in a braid. Her eyes are a reddish brown you said used to remind you of the clay down in New Mexico. Sollux, she said, what do you know about clay in New Mexico? And you said your family visited once to see your distant family in Albuquerque, and she said she’d put it on her list of places. It was a physical list she had, where she wrote down all the places she wanted to visit. You wonder if she still has it, or if she threw it away like you’re sure she threw so many of her old things away. 

 

Her lips curl into a ghost of a smile. “Hey, Sollux.” She must be in there, somewhere. Or else she’s not, because Aradia was the fire in her eyes, and there’s no fire left. You fell in love with that fire. It’s a strange thought, but you wonder if that’s why you love to make Eridan Ampora angry at you, because it’s the same fire, the same excitement. What a very strange and utterly unwarranted thought.

 

Terezi continues, “Aradia, can you tell us where your sister was last night?” She doesn’t ask for Aradia, because even if she had a reason to kill Kurloz, she wouldn’t have.

 

“I don’t usually know where my sister is at night. I was at home though.” She continues to look down at her book, so Terezi has to work to regain her attention.

 

“Do you know what your sister thought of Kurloz?” Terezi asks.

 

“She didn’t like him. She thought he was weird, but she doesn’t like a lot of people. I think that before he was with Meulin, she may have kissed him a few times. She kisses a lot of people, though, and she does a lot more with them.” She pauses for a moment, putting a bookmark in her page and closing her book. “Is this about him getting murdered?”

 

“Yes,” you confess, because you don’t like lying to Aradia. It’s not as if Aradia would care, or if Terezi would have lied to her. “Would your sister have had a reason to do it, do you think? And I don’t mean anything shitty by it, it’s just-”

 

She cuts you off. “She wouldn’t have more of a reason than anybody else, I suppose. But why does anybody? Money, jealousy, lust, religion, or maybe just for the thrill of it.” She looks up in an effort to avoid eye contact. “Sometimes, I kick over flowers and cans and I smash things because I can. I didn’t kill him, but whoever did may have just been trying to feel human again. That’s all I can tell you, Sollux.” There was almost something in her voice, the way a book is almost good and it ends too soon, or the way a shirt is almost nice except it’s too small in the shoulders. It’s something in that disappointing almost-something way.

 

Terezi remarks in disbelief, “Are you suggesting that our killer murdered Kurloz Makara all for the fun of it? You’re out of your mind, Aradia.”

 

She scoffs. “I never said that. I’m saying that maybe revenge isn’t the only reason people kill and destroy. It could just be because they were crazy, or they wanted to feel whole again.” She mutters, “If it helps, my sister wouldn’t have a reason to kill him. She didn’t tell me, but I think she was at Rufioh’s house. You know, the Nitrams. Ask him, if you need proof.”

 

“Thanks, AA, that helps a lot.” You don’t know why, but you feel especially lonely for Horuss Zahhak for a moment. It’s not that Rufioh or Damara owe him anything, you just feel lonely for him. Lately, it seems you’ve been feeling lonely for a lot of people you didn’t use to give a real fuck about. You look at Terezi, hopefully, “So I guess our next stop is the Nitrams?” You never had a particular liking for Tavros, but you know he or his brother will tell you what you need to hear and you can go.

 

She nods. “But first we’ll meet up with Rose Lalonde. See what she found on the Maryams.”

 

Aradia laughs. “The Maryams? What would they do, bake Kurloz too many cookies?” It makes you uneasy when she laughs, because it’s not good-natured like it used to be. You’d describe it as apathetic cruelty, if that weren’t too much of a contrast. One can’t be apathetic and cruel, you think. Unless, like Aradia was saying, the cruelty is just an effort to feel anything at all. You wonder if it’s lonely for Aradia to try and stitch her life back together with cruelty and destruction. That’s what they must be to her, stitches. When happiness and excitement leaked out her brain and onto the pavement, she must have tried to stitch it back together by breaking hearts and vases. You know it’s irrational, but you feel angry. You want to make her angry, and you want to make her hate you, even though she’s incapable of it. You just want her to feel something towards you again.

 

“Thanks, AA,” you repeat through gritted teeth. After packing up your case file, you guide Terezi out of Aradia’s house. She calls a polite ‘goodbye’ after the two of you.

 

When you step on her porch, all you can manage is a short sigh. You’ve never been particularly good at expressing your emotions. Come to think of it, you’re remarkably bad at doing so. “So, Rose?”

 

“Mmhmm,” responds Terezi tentatively. She stops at the end of Aradia’s driveway, preventing you from walking any further without leaving her behind. You may be a complete dick, but you would never leave Terezi behind.

 

“What?” You ask, without looking at her. It’s not like she would know if you did. Or maybe she would, maybe she could detect the sound waves or something batshit crazy like she’s always doing.

 

Without missing a beat, she responds, “Talk to me, Sollux. If you’re not okay, talk to me.

 

“Talk to you,” you repeat, “Of all the crazy things you say, Terezi. I am talking to you. Right now. This thing I’m doing with my mouth? It’s this crazy thing called talking. So, Rose?”

 

She shakes her head and punches you lightly in the arm. You know that she could hit harder if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. She’s telling you to cut the shit. “C’mon, asshat. Talk to me about Aradia. You know, she was my friend, too. I’ll understand more than you think, I promise.”

 

You shrug, “We all have our crosses to bear.”

 

She punches you again, this time hard. “First of all, cut with the Jesus crap. That’s not you. Second, Aradia isn’t anything you need to ‘bear’ or whatever bullshit you just said. And third, you can either talk this out like a normal person with me, a living person, right here, or have another internal breakdown. Just don’t expect me to pick up the pieces if you’re not even going to try with me here, Appleberry Buttface.”

 

“Ow, shit,” you mutter, rubbing your arm where she punched you. “It’s just lonely, I guess. Seeing her all… like that. It’s really fucking lonely and I don’t know another way to put it. I’m not going to have a breakdown, TZ, I’m fine. Just keep on walking.”

 

She hesitates, but eventually agrees with you. Then her feet agree with yours, walking arm in arm to Rose Lalonde’s little blue house. Terezi hums a bit; her sweet voice carries in the dry summer air like it can fly. For a moment, you entertain Terezi’s wild notion that perhaps ghosts sing to themselves, and only the birds can hear them and sing back. What a terrible way to spend an eternity.


	11. D3L1B3R4T1ON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to answer the question none of you were asking: I am uploading three chapters this week instead of one because I am going to be gone most of the summer staying with my dad/extended family. I don't think I will be able to write much if at all while I'm there, but if I do, I'll just save it up and do another chapter dump when I get back in August. (I'm coming back around the 5th so expect a chapter or two later that week). I really like this fic and chapter 12 and 13 are actually where it starts to pick up (ship-wise and mystery-wise) so I definitely won't abandon it! Whereas some of the earlier chapters may have only seemed like they were there as filler or to develop the setting and characters, most if not all of the rest of them should have at least some details that will be vital to the plot. Thanks for the support :) !

Rose Lalonde has taken the initiative to hold this little meeting in her own kitchen, as if this were her investigation. Just because she’s doing you and Sollux some little favors here and there, it most certainly is not her investigation.

 

“I propose we start by going through our suspect list. How do you think the Amporas checked out?” Rose begins.

 

You shake your head. “There’s nothing that proves any of them innocent, except for some shaky alibis. A gash on Cronus Ampora’s forehead could have potentially put him at the crime scene, though.” You rifle through your pocket for a moment before pulling out the knife. It’s not like you’d ever even think to leave such a critical piece of evidence lying at home at this point! “Oh yeah, I nearly forgot to catch you up to speed on our crime scene stakeout.” You slide the knife gently over to her across the table. “I think this is what our perp used. Additionally, Mr. Appleberry Blast found some face-level blood spatter on a tree, meaning that Kurloz probably fought back, as his wounds were down the torso. So basically, we’re looking for a perp with a busted face.”

 

Sollux snorts, “Apparently there are a lot of people with convenient face injuries right around now. I mean, what are the odds?”

 

Rose lightly hums in thought. “Well, neither Kanaya or Porrim had any visible injuries that could have left a blood spatter. Any other suspects?”

 

You let Sollux bring her up to speed on this one. “Well, Vriska had a black eye and was being completely cagey about her alibi. That gives us something. Meenah Peixes slammed the door before we could actually look at her face, and Damara Megido had a wicked gash on her lip. Aradia said she has an alibi, though, so we still need to check that out.”

 

“What kind of alibi?” asks Rose, “And did you visit the Makaras?”

 

You respond, “Well, she said she was with Rufioh Nitram. If he or Tavros can confirm, she’s golden.” You take a long sip of the lemonade she had set out for you before you arrived. “And we didn’t get to the Makaras. As vital as it may seem to our investigation, Sollux has failed to see a way that we could actually gain access. Makara and his kid are locked up tight in there. You know, he’s big on the ‘not taking risks’ aspect of this thing.”

 

“Sollux, I believe it actually is quite vital to our investigation at this point. If you’re willing to expand your theory a bit, Gamzee Makara had a bandaged hand the morning the two of you found the body. It may be plausible that he was reaching for something, or-”

 

Sollux interrupts, “Wait, you remember Gamzee’s hand? Do you remember anything about Meenah’s face? Or, I guess, her hand?” He adds, “And you know we’d be dead if we tried asking either Makara about that shit. They wanted that case closed as soon as possible.” In your opinion, that’s all the more reason to investigate it. You’re sure Sollux will let up, he has to. Otherwise, you’ll have to investigate yourself.

 

Rose pauses, most likely trying to recollect. “I don’t think I do. I could always meet Feferi for tea later to check it out. You know, since you two got a door slammed in your face before.”

 

Something about that comment strikes you as passive aggressive. It’s like rubbing it in your face that you got rejected at the doorway. It wasn’t your fault, or Sollux’s, by that matter. “Right then,” you say hesitantly, “You go visit Feferi for tea after this. Maybe Sollux and I can revisit the Amporas to see if we can get any more dirt on them.”

 

As if prompted by the mention of the name ‘Ampora’ Sollux speaks up. “Hey, TZ, maybe it would be a better use of your time to go clear up Damara’s alibi. I think I can handle that sleazebag Cronus on my own.”

 

You scrunch your nose into your face. It’s obvious that he’s trying to divert you from something at the Ampora house, most likely Cronus, and not treating you like a real detective. If the two of you do split up, a notion which you dislike in the first place, you should be the one doing the heavy detective work. Any fucking pansy could wring the truth out of Tavros goddamn Nitram. You say through pursed lips, “Sollux, you know I can’t walk there by myself. I’m blind, remember?”

 

Rose chips in, “Dave Strider lives close to me. I’m sure he’d be willing to escort you. As an added bonus, he doesn’t pry, so the secrets of the investigation would remain under lock and key.”

 

That sounds fishy to you. Dave Strider? He never seemed especially suspicious to you, but he also never seemed particularly trustworthy. A promise that he ‘doesn’t pry’ is not enough to convince you. “I don’t know,” you say, tentatively.

 

Sollux sighs. “Every hour we don’t make progress, that crime scene’s getting colder, TZ. You should know that, out of anyone. Once you’re done you can come meet me at Ampora’s, if that makes you feel better. Or we could meet back up at your house or mine.” He touches your shoulder in a way that’s unusual for him. He must really be trying to win you over, maybe to have some alone time with Prince Douchebag himself. After all, he was acting pretty wierdly about him yesterday. It wouldn’t surprise you, because Sollux Captor is one secretive bastard. You just wish he’d tell you the truth about himself once in a while.

 

“Alright,” you finally concede, “If you’re sure, Rose, that Dave Strider won’t compromise the investigation.”

 

She laughs. “I don’t think he could compromise anything if he tried. Trust me, he’s not a threat to you, or anything else around here.” After a brief pause, she asks if you’d like a refill of lemonade.

 

You give her your toothiest smile. “Oh, I would love some. Thank you, Rose.”

 

After she nods and heads to the kitchen, you turn your head to Sollux. “You know if you’re ever going through weird shit… I’m here for you. I’m not trying to say that I really know your deal, or anything that you’re thinking about ever, but you know. I’m here if you wanna talk about it, ever.”

 

He returns skeptically, “Yeah, good to know, TZ. But I really am fine. Don’t worry about me.”

 

You want to explode when he says that. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ That phrase, by now, is a red flag that he is absolutely not fine. No one’s fine when they say it like that, anyways. Sollux said he was fine when Mituna was in a coma, but you know for a fact that he didn’t leave the hospital that night, because you found him in the same clothes the next morning. Your sister said she was fine when she went to break up with his brother, but you found her crying in her room that night like she didn’t want anybody to hear. You remember when Tavros Nitram told you he was fine when he got out of the hospital, but he sounded so fucking scared when he said it. People say it’s fine when it’s not, just because they don’t really want the attention, or else they don’t want to face something that’s building up inside of them. You hate to admit it, but when you see something building up inside yourself, something that scares you, you pretend you don’t notice it. You shove it down and say that it’s fine, because that’s human nature.

 

Maybe it’s a reflex, camouflage or something. You hide yourself so as not to appear weak, so as to fit in. To fit in, to put on a happy face and say everything is fine, is to survive. It would be nice, if not for your sake but for Sollux’s, to hear him say he’s fine, just once, and be genuine about it. 

 

Out of nowhere, Sollux laughs. “TZ,” he mutters, “You and I sure do spend quite a bit of time thinking about the past, don’t we?”

 

You force an uncomfortable smile. “I do?” It’s strange, how Vriska Serket is always nagging at the back of your brain, just a little bit. Maybe in the same way that Aradia is nagging at Sollux. It’s different though, because if you tried to go back to Vriska, she’d welcome you with open arms. Maybe that’s what’s making your ‘just fine’ such a lie, too. “Yeah, Appleberry, I suppose we are.” You take your empty glass of lemonade and raise it above your head. “I propose a toast to living in the present.”

 

He clinks his half-full glass with yours, one that he would most certainly call half-empty. “To living in the fucking present.” He takes a sip of lemonade and adds after a moment, “And to damn good friends, too.”

 

You smile, and as Rose Lalonde returns with your lemonade you repeat, “To damn good friends.”

 

Rose says uncomfortably, “I assume I’m not intruding on something personal?”

 

You shake your head. As cagey as she seems, sometimes, you suppose you’re lucky to have Rose Lalonde around. She’s not a damn good friend, but hey, maybe someday she could be. “No, it’s all good, Rose. We’re fine.”

 

Rose relaxes, and puts a full glass of lemonade down in front of you. You’ve heard Rose described as very pretty. Sollux says she has short hair and red lips, like one of those 1920s girls. You thought it was a style that had died out, but apparently she pulls it off wonderfully. Rose carries herself like a beautiful ‘fuck you’ to an entire army of people who would want to hold her back, and you admire that. You think for a moment about raising your glass to Rose fucking Lalonde, just for being herself, but you decide against it. You don’t know if you can afford to inflate your assistant’s ego that much right now. Maybe once the investigation is all over, you can all throw some sort of party at the end and have as many toasts to Rose as people will stand for.

 

As she sits down, Rose says, “I called Dave Strider. I filled him in on as much of the investigation as I felt would be propitious, and he said he’d be glad to function as your assistant for the afternoon, Terezi.”

 

Sollux asks immediately, “Does he want to be paid or something? I have a dollar or two I could give him if he-”

 

“No, no,” Rose remarks, stopping Sollux before he pledges to give Dave Strider his entire life savings, “He told me that ‘getting away from bro for a few hours’ would be enough payment for him. Don’t worry about it, Sollux.”

 

You smirk. “I don’t think it will take more than 10 minutes to get everything out of the Nitrams. At least in my experience, Tavros is a pitiful liar.” You take a swig of your lemonade, trying to look like a cool kid, because Dave Strider is the coolest kid you know. You’ve got to try and live up to that, just a little bit, if he’s going to be guiding you around. “And then it will only take 20 minutes or so to walk to the richy-rich Ampora neighborhood. He’ll be home before dinner, easy.”

 

You hear a knock at the door, and Sollux says, “God, that was quick. He must have been really eager to go to Tavros Nitram’s house. Jesus Christ.”

 

Rose laughs. “No, he just lives really close by. Besides, I’m sure he really was ready to get away from his brothers for a few hours. They can be… overbearing at times.”

 

Sollux gets up to let him in. “Isn’t family always?”

 

It’s funny, how you and Sollux have been making progress, but you just have a crazy thought that if you bought a ouija board, and you took it into the woods, that maybe Kurloz would tell you who killed him. Or maybe, if you sit very quietly and listen to the way the birds sing, you could hear his voice. You could hear him whisper about it, ‘It was Cronus, his scumbag dad put him up to it. It was Vriska, the crazy bitch. It was my brother, it was Damara, it was Meenah Peixes Porrim Maryam tagged along. It was Aradia fucking Megido, who just wanted to feel something again.’ You think, when Dave Strider walks in, that Tavros Nitram may not be such an idiot for believing in fairies, just naive. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if something was there to tell you all the answers. Of course, where would the fun be in that?


	12. II had que2tiion2, you know

The sky is the color of exhaust fumes. That’s the color out of the back of your father’s car- the kind of color that makes up grim futures and deteriorating ozone layers, as if you really knew what that meant, or if you cared. You thought it looked right over the Ampora house, like it was just the right shade of upsetting and mundane. Too bad you sent Terezi away so she couldn’t knock and do all the talking for you.

 

Even though it’s a little painful, you do manage to knock on Eridan’s door. He answers looking like someone just punched him in the gut. Damn, you didn’t think he’d be that happy to see you!

 

“What?” He asks flatly.

 

To break the tension, you joke, “Would you like to hear about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

 

He sighs, closing the door, “Fuck off, Captor. I told you not to joke about my religion.”

 

Man, what a prick. Last time you checked, Jehovah's witnesses were fair game. You shove your foot in the door. As it catches, you wince. Perhaps that would have been a bit easier with Terezi’s cane. “Yeah, okay sorry and all that jazz but I really do have a few questions, you know. I didn’t just come here to be an ass.”

 

“You’re always an ass, Sollux. What’s your fuckin’ point?” Eridan is still pissed at you, but he reopens the door a bit.

 

You take a deep breath, exasperated at your own idiocracy. If it weren’t so fucking stupid, you’d consider going on a self-deprecating rant like your friend Karkat is known for doing. It always seems to make Karkat feel a little bit more mellow when he’s done. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry for being a dick, but could I come in or something? Look, man, I didn’t think I would be coming back but Terezi and I needed to ask some follow up questions. You’re barely even I suspect we just-”

 

“Why the hell didn’t Terezi come instead of sending your sorry ass?” Eridan steps out on the porch, this time wearing pants and a full on sweater. A sweater in the middle of summer? That’s dumb, but you decide not to ask about it.

 

“We decided to divide and conquer. And I mean, you know, Cronus is a fucking creep.”

 

Eridan smiles just slightly, the way he barely ever does. It doesn’t last long either, because after a minute he’s back to scowling at you. “Fine, you can stay for a few minutes, but you’re stayin’ out here again. And I get to decide what I wanna answer, and what I don’t. Okay?”

 

You nod, following him off the porch and into his boring green backyard. “That’s fair.” Wistfully, you add, “Hey, you never did tell me how your dad got those weird scars. And, well, here I am, like you asked.”

 

He pulls out a chair, and you take the one across from him. Eridan scoffs, “I was jokin’, dipwad.”

 

You say, “You could still tell me.”

 

When he explains, he tries to make it sound vague and positively dull. “You know how my dad was in the navy durin’ World War 2? He likes to play up that whole ‘war hero’ shit for the newspapers? Well from my understandin’ it happened with a particularly feisty Japanese girl and a pocket knife off the coast near Tokyo. He hasn’t told me much more than that.”

 

You burst out laughing. “That’s fucking crazy! Someday you should weasel the whole story out of him!”

 

Eridan scratches the back of his neck. “It’s not that easy, Sollux. I mean, Cro has been tryin’ for years, and he’s got nothin’ to show for it besides a few smacks to the back a’ his head.” He pauses for a minute and adds, “You know Cro wants to join the army straight out of high school? He says he’s gonna go fight against the reds in Vietnam. Can you fuckin’ believe it?”

 

“Isn’t Jake English in Vietnam?” You ask, trying to participate, but not fully grasping the laughability of Cronus enlisting. From what you know, Cronus is just a big idiot who likes to inappropriately flirt with girls.

 

Again, Eridan scoffs. “Yeah, but he got drafted. My dad sends him corny letters sometimes to boost his ‘politician cred’.” At this point, he’s doing air quotes and making a face that you can only describe as one of someone who is completely disgusted with his father. He continues, “He’s playin’ it off like Jake English is bein’ some big hero for this town, fightin’ for his country and such, but poor English was shakin’ last time I saw him before he got shipped off, the sorry fuck. You should’ve seen him, you woulda’ known that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about Ho Chi Minh; he just wanted to stay home with his girl.”

 

You’ve never seen Eridan so passionate about something. For a little bit, it’s nice to pretend that you don’t hate him and think about how sincere he looks. You’re sweating a bit in a polo and shorts, you wonder how Eridan’s not dying. There’s not even a bead of sweat where his hair falls into his left eye, and you think he may be sub-human. It’s not even a long sleeve t-shirt, it’s a sweater. The only thing you can think to ask is, “Jake English has a girl?” You find that you don’t even care. You just want to hear him keep talking, even though you usually can’t wait for him to shut up.

 

Eridan nods, brown curls swinging in the muggy breeze. “Yeah. Do you know Jane Crocker? She works at the corner store?”

 

“The pretty one?” You think of John or Jack or whoever’s sister with the broom yesterday. There was a subtle kindness to her that you could only describe as pretty.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Eridan shudders, “Damn, I’m afraid of the fuckin’ draft.”

 

You gulp. You hadn’t really thought of being drafted into the Vietnam war. After all, you were under the impression that Johnson wanted to end it. Besides, you’ve always regarded yourself with a vague sense of immortality, partially in spite of all the misfortune that seems to surround those around you, and in part because of it. “I- I guess I am too.”

 

Eridan picks at non-existent dirt under his pristine nails. “Well go ahead. Ask me some damn questions.”

 

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. How did Cronus get that cut above his eye?”

 

Eridan rushes to answer. He doesn’t look at you, indicating that something’s up. “Ladder. He was doin’ a project and the ladder fell down. Hit him right in the face. He was a real sorry sight when it happened, too.” After squirming his fingers around for a moment he adds, “That’s it.”

 

You know that’s not it, but you don’t want to probe. Besides, if you get one of Cronus’ classmates to confirm that he had the gash before Kurloz was killed, you don’t need to know all the details. You’re not entirely sure that’s what drives you to pity him, though. It’s his insignificance, and your own, that prompts you to wonder for a moment why it even matters. Beyond the scope of Kurloz, or Aradia, or even the Vietnam war. You are finite and vulnerable. Your eyes stray away from the sunrises created by Eridan’s rings, and stare at the sleeves of the sweater again. How can he not be dying in that God forsaken sweater? Again, you don’t probe, because you get the feeling that Eridan is a very private person. After all, he’d rather sit outside in that fucking sweater than let you in his house. “Yeah, alright. Can you tell me a little bit about Vriska Serket’s mother? Or her relationship with Makara?”

 

Eridan looks relieved when you change topics. You take a mental note of that, for what purpose you have no clue. “Yeah, yeah I can tell you a little about that. I mean, I can tell you what I, personally, have been informed of. I mean, you know he hates my dad, and he hates Meenah Peixes’ mom, but I just… I don’t know how he feels about Serket. Well I mean, it ain’t like that kind of hate he has for my dad. He should hate her, you know since she’s ‘politically aligned’ with my old man,” again, the air quotes, indicating his father’s insincerities, “but he likes her. It ain’t just ‘cause she’s a woman, because he’s fuckin’ vicious towards Connie Peixes, even though they publicly support each other. If I were you, I’d look into somethin’ behind the scenes with Serket and Makara. You might find somethin’.”

 

All those political ties frankly make your head hurt. You’re not quite sure how one town could handle so many shady public servants. Frankly, you’ve never been more relieved that your father is an engineer. “Okay, thanks, Eridan.” You scribble down the notes he gave you furiously in your case file. You wonder what could be going on between Serket and Makara, or if it carries any relevance to your case at all. “Now, this is a long shot, but can you tell me anything about how the Serket kids felt about Kurloz? Or any of the Makaras?”

 

Eridan does a breathy laugh. “You think Vris did it? Don’t make me laugh. She and Aranea may be self-absorbed bitches, but beyond politics, they ain’t got nothin’ to do with Gamzee or Kurloz. I sure know Meenah hated ‘em, though. If you ask me, it was some high-scale inside job by Connie. It sure as hell wasn’t fuckin’ Vris, or her shitty mom.”

 

“Okay, that actually helps a lot. Thanks, Eridan.” His theory about it being a high-scale job was wrong, and proven so by a rusty pocket knife, but it would be worth it to check more into Meenah and Vriska, anyways. Against your better judgement you ask, “Man, why do we always have to be at each others throats and stuff? We probably could’ve been pretty good friends.” You think, when Eridan’s being civil, you could see him as a potentially good friend. There’s just something in his eyes that you hate yourself for fixating on. You hate that you’ve probably fixated on it your whole life, in the same way that you fixated on Aradia. Perhaps it’s the same thing- the sense of spontaneity and sincerity- that you could never have found in yourself. When you mention it to him, you don’t even want to provoke him. There’s just a part of you that has always wanted to know that the way you hate him isn’t really hate, and this time is the only time that part of you has ever won.

 

Eridan scoffs, catching you off guard. You would’ve at least thought he’d meet your confession with a little bit more tact. “I couldn’t be friends with some mud-wallower like you.”

 

Somewhere, you think he’s been conditioned to think that way in his expensive ugly house with all his golden rings, but you’re really hurt when he says it. You can’t sort it out in your mind. Is he deliberately trying to make you mad because he likes to argue, or does he genuinely look down on you? You smirk and reply, “You know that Jesus said rich people go to hell, right?” You’re only paraphrasing the Bible, of course, but jabs at Christianity really get to Eridan.

 

“No he didn’t, you sick fuck. Hell’s probably swarming with spiteful dicks like you, anyhow.” He stands up, and you do the same. You don’t want him to feel like he has the upper hand, or anything, even though he is a good deal taller than you. If you maintain the element of surprise, you’ve always been pretty evenly matched on the few occasions your fights have gotten physical. You feel like without Terezi as a mediator, this may be one of the occasions.

 

“Greed, one of the seven deadly sins. Don’t you think eight gold rings is a little bit excessive?”

 

Eridan holds up his fist, “How’d you like to feel ‘em in your fuckin’ jaw? How’s that for excessive?”

 

Even though you had a resolve to hold your ground with him, you start backing up a little bit. It’s instinctive, because as long as you keep provoking him you’re winning. “No, I actually think that’s the definition of ‘excessive’. But I mean, you had to learn it from somewhere.”

 

Eridan raises one eyebrow, in the way that Terezi does when she’s interrogating someone. “What the hell are you implyin’, Captor?”

 

You raise your hands, expecting him to follow through on his threat to punch you in the jaw. “You and I both know a ladder didn’t fall on Cronus’ head.”

 

You feel it in slow motion. It’s not the jaw. The jaw’s flashy and show-offish. The jaw turns purple and black and green, and everyone would know that Eridan punched you with his four shiny golden rings. The stomach, on the other hand, the stomach is personal. The jaw is pulsating pain, it’s pain that stimulates adrenaline and a will to fight. All you feel when he punches your stomach is slow, fight-ending pain, and panic at the thought of never being able to breathe again. That punch wasn’t for anyone else to see, it was for you to know how much you hurt him. It was for you to feel an onset of pain and guilt knowing that you went way too far. Even if it was unintentional, though, it also told you that you were right.

 

“Fuck you, Captor,” he says, voice shaking, “did your spazzy fuckin’ brother tell you that? Your fuckin’ psychotic girlfriend?” As you fall on the ground, he kicks you again in the side, and again. “Did you just make it up ‘cause your mom never fuckin’ loved you? Leave the detective work to Terezi, you piece of shit.” In that moment, it all comes together why he doesn’t let you in his house. Why he’s aggressive and insecure, and why he puts so much weight into his concept of Christianity and morality. You bet that he prays every night for his dad to go to hell. You don’t believe in hell, but you bet if there was one, his dad would go there for sure.

 

Eridan storms off to God knows where, but all you can really register right now is how nice the sky looks. You’ve been indoctrinated with the knowledge that the sky is blue since you were first learning colors, but there’s so much more subtlety to it than that. You think that you finally understand what Terezi means when she wants things described in more words, the way that she equates colors to feelings and intangible thoughts. There’s not just blue; there’s whites and yellows a greys and the color of the water that runs down the side of a glass of raspberry lemonade. You feel your pulse in your side and wonder how you ever could have felt important on such a tiny part of the world, in such a tiny corner of the universe. Laying on the grass, you call, “Sorry, Eridan,” even though you’re not sure if he’s still even outside.

 

After a minute, you don’t hear a response. Instead, he comes to sit by you. He lays down in the grass, the top of his head against yours, and sighs. “You were a fucking dick.” His voice is still shaking.

 

“Yeah,” you wheeze, still gathering your breath.

 

“Okay, but I guess I was a little-”

 

“Excessive?” you ask.

 

He responds blankly, “Yeah, excessive.”

 

“ ‘S alright,” you breathe, “We were due for one of those, eh?”

 

“One of what?” he replies.

 

“You know,” you say, motioning a punch to the expansive sky, “A real fight.”

 

He says sarcastically, “As opposed to a fake fight? You’re loopy, Captor.”

 

You shake your head to the best of your ability. Already, you’re starting to feel some of your wind returning and the pain receding. “No, I mean as opposed to just standing and bitching at each other.”

 

He sits up and laughs. “I guess you’re right. But by those terms, you didn’t get much real fightin’ in.” After an awkward pause he asks, “Can you get up?”

 

“Yeah,” he extends a hand, and you take it. You take a deep breath- it’s a little bit painful- but you add, “Yeah, I’m gonna be fine.”

 

He smiles. “Yeah.”

 

You look him again, and reply, “Yeah,” simply because there’s nothing else to really say.

 

“Yeah,” he says one more time, before doing the one thing you never really expected from him. Or really, you never expected it from anyone who wasn’t a girl. You’d actually only ever received one kiss; it was from Aradia pre-accident in a fort the two of you had made out of pillows in her living room. Maybe the most notable fact about your first kiss compared to your second is that it didn’t happen right after Aradia had kicked the living shit out of you. The funny thing is, though, no matter how much seems wrong with your second kiss, you can’t say that you like it any less than the first one, both awkward and terrifying and felt back in your chest and arms and cheeks. Perhaps that’s what terrifies you the most about it. You don’t really know how to react, so you just don’t. You don’t stop it and you don’t kiss back; you just let it be in your own insignificant place in Eridan’s grass, just one set of lips against the other. It doesn’t last for more than five seconds, but they are the longest five seconds you have ever felt. Time bends only for first kisses and punches in the gut, not for drafted soldiers or dead boys in rivers.

 

After he stops, the first thing you hear him say is, “shit” under his breath.

 

You stand up carefully and announce, “I think, um, TZ is waiting for me. I should, uh. I should go.” Terezi said she’d meet you at the Ampora house, but you’ve got some really complicated and frankly unwanted feelings that you have to work out on your own. Even though it hurts like hell, you take your case file and run from his yard as fast as your body will allow you.

 

All you hear in the distance is Eridan yelling, “Shit, Captor, I’m sorry!”

You don’t respond. You also don’t intend to ever come back to the Ampora house again.


	13. FUCK YOUR W4RR4NT

Dave Strider constantly proves himself to be surprisingly nice company. You suppose his whole ‘coolkid’ shtick doesn’t automatically make him an asshole. It’s probably not a shtick at all, that just seems to be how he is. Every few minutes, you hear him blow the hair out of his eyes. Or, you suppose, off of his ever-present Strider Shades. The two of you are seated at the charmingly worn-down table near the center of the Nitram’s kitchen.

 

“So Rufioh,” you ask plainly, clutching the glass of water that was set if front of you, “you can be honest here. Was Damara Megido here the night Kurloz died?”

 

Tavros, although a pretty decent friend of yours, split soon after seeing Dave Strider enter alongside you. You believe that Dave is too much of a foreboding presence for Tavros who still believes in fairies that take people to heaven. You always find yourself feeling bad for Tavros, maybe sometimes just because he’s Tavros. Rufioh, on the other hand, is seventeen, and has no real reason to fear a fourteen year old in sunglasses.

 

Rufioh lowers his voice and leans in. “Okay, promise you won’t tell anybody?”

 

Dave chimes in, “Rufioh, we’re keeping this shit on straight up lockdown. It’d take John fucking Dillenger to crack into this knowledge safe.”

 

“Okay, then,” Rufioh practically whispers, “Yeah, Damara was here Saturday night. But I mean, we’re on the down-low, if you know what I mean. That’s why she had to sneak out late at night. I mean, not even Tav knows.”

 

You continue, “And she stayed here all night?”

 

Rufioh nods furiously. “Yeah. She wanted to leave around four or five, but she fell asleep and ended up leaving more around 6:30. If you were wondering or anything, that’s probably why she was late to church.”

 

You nod. That would fit well with Aradia’s narrative, and basically gets her off the hook. You briefly consider that Rufioh is lying, and was involved with the whole thing, but you disregard the thought pretty quickly. You respond, standing, “Okay, thanks Rufioh. We’ll tell you if we get any breaks.”

 

Rufioh stirs in his chair. “Promise you will? I wasn’t too close to Kurloz, but I can’t help feeling a little guilty, you know? I mean, our brothers are, or I guess they were, friends, but I barely said two words to the guy. If I would’ve bothered to know him, I can’t help but think that maybe something different would’ve come from it. I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

 

“No, it’s completely natural to think like that. Just remember, it’s not your fault. We’ll tell you for sure when we find out who did it.” You find it curious how Rufioh’s reaction essentially echoed yours after you found the body, wondering if there was any way you could have helped him.

 

Dave asks, “Hey, do you mind if I go on back and say hi to Tavros? I think I spooked the kid when I came in.”

 

Rufioh answers, “Yeah, of course, Dave. You’ve just got to be a little more gentle with him, is all.”

 

As Dave goes back in the house to find Tavros, you reach for the front door. Something stops you, though. It’s another strange thought, and you can’t think of anyone you’d rather share it with than Rufioh Nitram. “Hey, Rufioh, do you believe in ghosts?”

 

While he ponders, all you hear is the clock ticking in the Nitram house. Perhaps it’s keeping time to something, like a metronome. Rufioh eventually responds, “Yes, I suppose I do, doll. Maybe the folks that don’t find their way to heaven straight away stick around for a little while.”

 

You don’t turn to face him. “Do you think that if we stop long enough, or listen close enough, we could hear them? The ghosts?”

 

“I don’t think I’d very much want to find out.”

 

Dave comes back promptly. “Alright, time for this train to get a move on.” After saying a quick goodbye, the two of you move quickly through the front door. Dave slams the door harder than necessary.

 

After the two of you wordlessly leave the porch, Dave says, “Did you know that Tavros has scraped knuckles? You know, Terezi, like he was punching something pretty recently. I don’t know what that means in terms of your investigation or anything, but all I’m saying is that-” 

 

You shake your head. “No, Dave, I’m stopping this right now. If you’re trying to tell me that Tavros Nitram of all people had anything to do with this, then you must be crazier than you smell.”

 

“And you know, he confirmed Damara’s alibi, meaning he was up at the times she came and left. And how does someone smell crazy, Terezi, what the-”

 

“We’re not looking into Tavros Nitram,” you say firmly, “That’s final.”

 

Dave says, exasperated, “Fine. It’s not my fucking problem. I just thought you’d like to know. You might also like to know that his story about it was pretty shoddy, too. Ignore it if you want, though. Where are we going next?”

 

You explain, “To the Amporas to meet up with Sollux. Or I guess if he’s not there, back to Rose’s house. Sollux never was too keen on being around Eridan for long periods of time. It’s a miracle they didn’t kill each other last time we were there.”

 

“Wait, don’t you guys still need to investigate at the Makaras? Rose gave me the impression that they were pretty big suspects,” Dave asks.

 

“Yeah,” you say quickly, “but Sollux didn’t want us to go to their house or anything. He said it was too dangerous.”

 

Dave chuckles, “Well, they’re house is straight ahead, and I don’t see case-killer Captor anywhere around here, do you?”

 

You stop and plant your cane firmly in the pavement. “Dave, what are you suggesting? You know I don’t condone any illegal activity in the pursuit of justice.”

 

He grabs your hand and rushes ahead, dragging you behind. “Rezi, come on. It’s not like we’re going to be stealing and breaking shit. We’ll just have a real quick look around, see up around there.”

 

“Dave, breaking and entering is illegal, whether you steal anything or not.” Although you’re no longer resisting being guided to the house, you will resist unlawfully setting foot on the Makara property.

 

“C’mon, I said we wouldn’t be breaking anything! And you know, those guys are so fishy that they could be the chief ingredient in cat food.”

 

“Dave.” You say firmly, “We do not have a warrant.”

 

He puts his arm around your shoulder and teases, “Fuck your warrant!” You don’t think there’s any way you could convince him not to enter the Makara house on his own, so you decide to just give in and go with him. Besides, behind your lawful exterior, you want to go into that house just as much as he does. Even Sollux is convinced that they have to be hiding something, and he’s about as dense as fresh concrete. Besides, there’s no better place to look for dirt than somewhere they think is absolutely private. You don’t verbally concede, but you follow Dave without any more protest.

 

It takes you ten minutes to get to the house. “Well, God damn, we’re here Terezi. And it looks like the Makaras aren’t.”

 

You shuffle your feet for a moment, confused. You are hesitant to go up the driveway without first knowing what you’re dealing with. Bull-headedness is a defense mechanism you have developed to compliment your peculiar arsenal of senses. “I’m not taking a step further until you describe the house for me.”

 

Dave stops by you. “Oh, yeah, the blind thing. Sorry. I should’ve remembered, you know, weird-eyes-shitty-glasses kids like us have to stick together. We should form a club or something, the three of us, get vests made out for it.” You’d never seen Dave’s eyes, but you’d heard from other sources that they were red and extremely sensitive to sunlight, a bit like Karkat Vantas’ albino ass. Dave continues after his tangent recedes, “Anyways, so the house. It’s big as all fuck, two stories, all the windows are dark and there’s no car in the garage. This is like next level shit- like a haunted mansion in a really cheesy horror movie. The grass is all untrimmed, too, I’m telling you, Hollywood’s gonna want a look at this clusterfuck. Now let’s get a move on before those creepy clown shits come home.”

 

His description satisfies you, so you follow him up the driveway, letting the light breeze blow around the bottom of your skirt. “So how do you propose we enter?” You’re actually fairly good at picking locks, if it should come down to it, but you’d rather enter in a way that seems less illegal. It’s illegal all the same, but you feel as if you don’t want to enter by picked lock. Or, at least, not picking the front lock where everyone can see you. “Is the door open or something?”

 

Dave retorts, “I don’t know. I was thinking we’d just try that open window.”

 

You grunt, “Man, you sure could’ve included that in your grand fucking verbal picture of the house.”

 

On the front porch, Dave give you a boost through, and you help him in by his hands. You say, filled with second thoughts, “Dave I’m not sure that is a good idea, after all. I mean, Sollux is usually right about this kind of stuff. If they’re so private they wouldn’t have just left their window open.” You get chills for a moment, and you wonder if Kurloz’s ghost may have opened the window. You don’t know why you have been thinking of ghosts so much lately, or just that of Kurloz Makara, when you have never thought of ghosts before. You suppose it’s because Kurloz always seemed to be such an unfortunate, benign facet of the universe, that you can’t fathom anything that would care one way or the other if he died, maybe besides Meulin Leijon. It’s as if everything just kept right on moving after he was brutally murdered, for God’s sake, and you’re convinced that there must be something still tying him to anyone or anything here. You desperately want to believe that a part of you might leave a mark when you eventually and inevitably die. You want to believe in the ghosts who sing to the beat of an old clock and open windows, not ghosts who sink into the dirt and dissolve.

 

“No, it’s fine. We’ll be in and out, Terezi. Just say what you’re looking for and we’ll find it together. We’re gonna be like Siamese twins up in this bitch.”

 

You scratch your chin, suddenly wishing for the cane that you left at Rose’s house, or even that rusty knife, which you also left. You feel defenseless without it. “I suppose that we’re looking for some type of proof that Makara was involved in some underground plot or organization of some sort that would indict him in his son’s murder. He wanted that boy’s death covered up, and we need to figure out why. Even if it wasn’t him who did it, we might get lead to whoever did.”

 

Dave pulls you onto the staircase. “Then we start his the bedroom?”

 

You nod. That sounds good, the bedroom. Even though you know nobody is home, the two of you make an effort to be exceedingly quiet. You don’t need anybody drawing any sort of connections between you and the Makaras right now, even the neighbors. Once you enter the room, you only dare to whisper, “What’s the place like?”

 

Dave scoffs under his breath, “Fucking extravagant, man. Try and… I don’t know. I’m gonna look around under the bed and stuff, you try and just rifle through shit. Tell me if you find something in his drawers that doesn’t feel like socks and underwear.”

 

You go dutifully, at Dave’s direction, to rifle through Makara’s dresser. It feels weird, almost like you’re touching a celebrity’s socks. That’s all you find, though. Socks. You move on to the next drawer, which seems to be filled with miscellaneous fabrics (Dave points that they’re ties when you ask) and button up shirts. Again, nothing of real interest. Instead of going into the third drawer, you decide to reach around behind the dresser, and against the wall. At this point, you’re beginning to lose hope. After all, the killer left the murder weapon at the scene. And Makara wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave something out for a pair of dumb kids to find… or would he?

 

Your fingers graze across a book which seems to have a small metal lock across the cover. It reminds you of the diary Latula used to write in when she was your age. But for a grown man? It must be something shady, you just know it. You’re about to ask Dave what it is, when against your better judgement, you slip the thing into your skirt and cover it up with the back of your shirt. You know that both he and Sollux would tell you not to take anything you couldn’t look at without breaking, and you know that cheap lock isn’t coming off without the key or some damn brute force. Bull-fucking-shit. Besides, this is your investigation, not Dave’s.

 

You jerk your head around when Dave calls, “Hey, Terezi! Do you have any bobby pins on you? I found something with a lock!”

 

With the book secured, you go over to help Dave, removing one bobby pin from the front of your hair. Some of it falls in your eye, but it’s all for the sake of the case, of course. You follow the sound of his voice and kneel down beside him.

 

He puts a small chest in front of you. “Makara had this under his bed. Do you think you could get in?” He guides your hand to a tiny keyhole.

 

You nod. As you begin, you ask, “What’s the box look like?”

 

Dave Ponders and answers, “It’s like Jade.”

 

“Jade Harley?” You respond, naturally confused.

 

“No, like the stone. It’s all… stone and expensive looking. There’s definitely something important in there.”

 

As you fiddle with the lock, you find yourself hoping that it’s a key for the shitty journal. You also find yourself faced with the question of how you’re going to read the thing. Before you can delve too deeply into the mechanics of your lead, the lock pops open. “Ah, got it. What’s in there, Dave?”

 

Sounding a bit dissapointed behind his usual even tone, he states, “Just… jewelry. Do you think Makara is a cross-dresser?”

 

“Of course not,” you snap, even though you’d really have nothing against it, “These are probably from his wife.” After a moment you continue, “That’s kind of a downer, isn’t it? Just keeping a dead lady’s old jewels in a locked box under your bed? I wonder why he doesn’t just sell them or something. They’re just… festering under here.”

 

Dave remarks, “Well, he sure as hell has enough money to keep them. And to be honest, if I had anything that reminded me of my mom I would hold on to that shit and never let it go.” Again, you’re reminded just how much everybody is hiding behind their happy faces and cool shades. Dave, who would love to have something to remember his mother, or Makara, who hides his wife’s old jewels under the bed. You come to a small revelation of sorts, the kind that comes without solid evidence. Makara who keeps sentimental reminders of his late wife in his most private place does not seem like the type to be involved with the murder of his own child. Hopefully the journal will lead you to whoever is. You close the chest and slip in gingerly back under the bed.

 

As you’re about to continue your search, you hear a click of a door, very near to you. You whisper to Dave, panicked, “Did you hear that? It was from up here. Is Makara home? Has he heard this whole thing?” Without sight, your sense of panic generally increases more quickly than that of the general population. If you were in real trouble, you couldn’t see it coming.

 

Dave rests his shaking hand on your shoulder. “No, it can’t be Makara. I think that Gamzee’s home, or something. Hopefully he was too high to actually comprehend anything.”

 

You tug on his shirt. “I want to fucking leave now, Dave.” It’s difficult to keep your voice steady, knowing that you could be caught at any moment. Gamzee, although seemingly harmless, has always given you a vague sense of the heebie-jeebies. You hear his shuffling footsteps in the hallway, and find yourself praying that he doesn’t open the door as he comes closer.

 

“Christ, Terezi, get into the closet with me,” Dave coaxes. Ironically, both you and Sollux are currently pretty deep into the closet, but making that pun may be just a bit to meta to make a suspense scene, so you wordlessly follow him into Makara’s walk-in closet. Dave hides the both of you behind a few hanging blazers.

 

As you hold your breath and pray, you wonder if this is the type of situation that God would care to watch. Maybe he would take pity on you, or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe the ghost of Kurloz Makara would protect you, or just watch and hum to himself as you and Dave got caught in the act. 

 

You release your breath when you hear who you assume Gamzee take a turn to go down the stairs. You repeat under your breath, “Dave, we have to go.”

 

You feel him nod. “We’ll just wait a minute and go down the steps, maybe through the back door.” The two of you do just that: wait a moment before leaving the walk-in closet. The two of you walk like caricatures, with over exaggerated tip toed steps and facing hearts. You’re thankful that the door doesn’t creak, and that Gamzee probably is too high to hear the two of you walking down the steps.

 

“He’s just sitting there by the window,” Dave dares to whisper, “Rocking back and forth and shit. He must be stoned to the fucking moon and back, Terezi. Don’t worry.” You’re struck suddenly by how sad it must be to be Gamzee Makara. Yes, he’s surrounded by loss like everybody else seems to be in your goddamn town, but he has no one to lean on. At least Sollux has you when things get really bad for him, and people like Dave and Latula have plenty of friends that love them. You get the feeling that Gamzee must spend a lot of time alone in this old house since the preacher’s son stopped coming here when his dad said he didn’t want him influenced by the drug use. It must have been lonely, too, when Tavros got his legs broken, and he couldn’t visit, then he just forgot to visit after that. He must be really fucking lonely with his dead mother and big-time politician dad who still clings to her. Perhaps after his brother was killed, Gamzee Makara could’ve been named the loneliest person in the world, even if he was too busy destroying his body from the inside out to know it himself. You tear yourself away from the boy before you’re tempted to start a conversation, just out of pure pity.

 

Dave leads you quietly through the back door. You make sure, once the door is closed again, that the journal is still secured by your back. All you can do is breathe a sigh of relief.

 

Dave, on the other hand, laughs, like he never laughs out loud. “You know what Terezi?”

 

“What?” you muse, still reeling from shock and sadness.

 

“I know you can’t see it, but it’s a really beautiful fucking afternoon.”


	14. 2tupiid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this should start updating regularly again! I thought I'd write more when I was gone but... yeah I only wrote this one chapter. This fic isn't actually that close to being done (at least ten more chapters?) but for my next fic what would you guys think of something a little bit more ship-oriented? The more plot focused stuff is fun for a change, but I'm assuming most of you come here to read about ships! I have three ideas for plots, and if you guys want to suggest a ship that you like and don't see very often then comment away and it might make its way in here or my next fic!

Your entire conception of the universe feel like it’s been punched in the metaphorical face. It was your window to see life, and Eridan Ampora just threw a shitty baseball through it. Not even a baseball, more like a shitty preppy tennis ball or maybe he just walked up and smashed your window with a croquet mallet. That seems like something he would do.

 

Or maybe, that’s just something your preconceived notion of Eridan would do. It’s weird to think that any other version of him might exist besides the perfect nemesis that you created inside your own head. Was he ever really your nemesis? Did you really think of him in that way? You stop running because you can no longer see his house, and you just stand with your hands on your knees wheezing. You never have had a very strong aptitude for athletic ability.

 

You actually take a moment to sit down on the curb to sort yourself out. Terezi and Rose are expecting the calm and collected Sollux that you like presenting, so you can’t show up looking like something’s up with you, let alone in the middle of a full blown anxiety attack. Terezi just knows about that kind of thing; she’s got a Sollux’s bullshit radar. It’s like she feeds off of your negative energy. You cup your face in your hands, and you suppose you should try to figure out the basics first. That’s what Terezi does when she helps you work through one of your mental breakdowns, she lists out all the facts with you and lets you feel everything out. This time you can do it on your own. You tell yourself not to cry and that you can figure this out on your own. You can’t tell anybody about this, so you have to figure it out on your own.

 

Stop Crying, Sollux, you think. 

 

Calm Down, Sollux, you think. Let’s Start From The Beginning, Sollux, you think.

 

You visited Eridan’s house. He almost shut the door on you and you hurt your foot. You talked. You asked questions. You argued. His father is abusive. He beat the shit out of you. You apologized. He apologized. He kissed you. You left his backyard limping then you started running. Now you are sitting on a curb in front of someone’s house who you don’t know. Your hands are shaking. You are crying even though you told yourself not to. You cannot describe the source of your tears as anything other than pure unadulterated panic. You cannot stop yourself from thinking that somebody saw, or that God may smite you for it even though you don’t believe in a God who smites people.

 

That’s Not The Beginning, Sollux, you think. Terezi tells you to breathe when you get away from the facts. So you breathe deeply and wipe off your face. You a draw pattern into the dirt with your finger.

 

As you will for your tears to subside, you wonder what the beginning really was between you and Eridan. You remember the first time you saw him, albeit vaguely. You remember seeing his pretty friend Feferi Peixes. God, you’ve always thought that Feferi Peixes had such a pretty face. She still has a pretty face that you think should be painted and put into museums. Eridan talked first, though. He said to go away, because you weren’t good enough for he. It was always like that between you and Eridan, you think, until you began to see him as your honest-to-God nemesis. Aradia to love, Eridan to hate, and it was always that simple for you. You wonder if all the times he fought you were just him trying to get your attention or something, no matter how negative that attention was. You shouldn’t have said that thing about wanting to be friends, you should’ve just let him keep thinking that you hated him.

 

Stupid.

 

Stupid.

 

Stupid.

 

StupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupid

 

Breathe.

 

Terezi always says when things get bad, just look at the facts. ‘One’s internal mysteries can sometimes be complex enough to parallel those written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.’ Again, you wipe the tears off of your face and lament about how difficult it is to work through your emotions without Terezi, or even Karkat shitstain Vantas who’s surprisingly good at making you feel sort of okay again. They could tell you it’s not your fault, but they could never answer any of the questions you have right now. In fact, it dawns on you after a moment of deep breathing that the only person who really could answer those questions is Eridan. At some point you’ll have to suck it up and go back there to ask him. Either that, or let your strange emotions regarding him fester indefinitely. 

 

There can’t be emotions for him besides hate, you think, on second thought. At the most, a kind of platonic affection that forms for a really good kind of enemy. You’re straight as an arrow. In kindergarten through fifth grade you had such a thing for Feferi Peixes that you’d dream about her some nights. In 6th grade when you started skipping church you even developed a little thing for Terezi until she started dating your good friend Karkat Vantas, and you started to think that she didn’t really like boys the way she pretended to. After Terezi, in the seventh grade, you had such a thing for Aradia that’s stuck with you ever since. You were in love with Aradia and once or twice you even thought about getting married to her and spending the rest of your lives travelling the world travelling until you found a place that was beautiful enough to never get tired of. She kissed you in the 9th grade and you fell so deeply in love that you would have jumped off of a cliff if she asked you to. Anything you could have felt for Eridan at any point in your life pales to what you felt, and to an extent still feel for Aradia.

 

For some people, you fall so hard that there’s just no getting up.

 

It’s Time To Get Up, Sollux, you think.

 

You get up, but you’re not okay. You’re still crying, you know that you are, but you have to get up off this stanger’s curb and shut up. You decide very nonchalantly that you hate yourself. You don’t really care what Terezi would say about that, because everyone always leaves you so you must be a hateable guy. You want to find a window or a mirror so you can look at your face and make sure that you do not look like you’ve been crying. You think you’d also like to smash the window after you’re done looking at it.

 

You just wipe your face off with your forearm. You don’t want to know how you look. You run your fingers through your hair to make it look like you haven’t been running or fighting or pulling at it. 

 

“I’m okay,” you say softly. It’s a test to make sure you can still speak, to bring you back into reality. For a moment, you realize that you are absolutely not okay and think about telling Terezi everything. You think she must understand, because she must have thought of kissing Vriska even though she sort of hates her. Besides Ampora himself, there’s probably no one that would understand more. Sometimes, though, no matter how rational something may seem to you, you just can’t bring yourself to do it. “I’m okay,” you say louder.

 

The sky is still grey and blue and ugly and beautiful all at once. To just say the sky is blue would be a goddamn crime. “I’m okay,” you say to yourself, hands still shaking and breath still scarce. “I’ve never been more fucking okay.” You look up and keep walking towards Rose Lalonde’s house, just because you can’t really think of another place to go. The sky is the color of exhaust fumes, but it’s also the color of the ocean and the color of blue rock candies. It’s the colors of apathy and excitement that mix together into numbness. The sky is made of cobalt, zinc and Molybdenum. The lining on the clouds is the color of fine arsenic that could kill you if you drank it in too much. You suppose lots of beautiful things could kill you in very high doses.

 

You think that you’re a coward for panicking about something so silly. Terezi says that if you really feel scared, nothing you panic about is stupid, but she’s wrong. Aradia must have been scared when she fell and got her head bashed against the sidewalk. Tavros was sure scared when he broke both of his legs, he was crying enough. Jake English was scared when he got drafted and shipped overseas, like Eridan said. Maybe Eridan was scared when his dad gave Cronus that fucking gash. You bet Mituna was scared when some asshole hit him hard enough to put him in a coma. Kurloz Makara, no matter how tall and foreboding, must have been scared when someone slashed him up and left him in the river to die. You think these are all okay reasons to be scared, and that these people are pretty brave. People are all brave, you think, even Feferi Peixes, just for staying alive each day. You are not brave. You panic not because you are in danger, but because someone likes you more than you originally thought. In the scope of Skaia and the Universe, you feel pretty damn small and pretty damn stupid. You feel utterly vulnerable and human in a way that you hate. 

 

“Breathe,” you say. You’re voice is shaking like a rattle, but at least you’re not crying. Your heartbeat is already beginning to slow down. You wipe your sweaty palms off on your pants.

 

It’s him that you fear, you conclude. It hurts to inhale where he punched you, and it repulses you that he left a physical mark on you. If you go back maybe he will punch you again, or even worse, he’ll kiss you again. It’s a sickness, what he has. It must be a sickness, and there must be a cure. Even TZ, maybe she’s sick too, and you can read the Bible for the first time through and find an answer in there. Your eyes are dry and tired, and you feel the same way. Of course there’s no cure for it. You feel stupid and awful for even thinking that.

 

Your thoughts wander aimlessly to somewhere that surprises you: Eridan’s rings. You quicken your pace, and think about how the light reflected off of them so effortlessly, like he didn’t even know. You think about the countless suns in this universe that are here and the countless suns that have already died. You think about the discouragingly slow progress of your case and you think about why you even care in the first place. It’s not like Kurloz would come back to life. You think that if you were murdered you’d just like everybody to let you rest and get some goddamn peace for once. You think about how when you said you wanted to be friends with Eridan, you meant it from the bottom of your dysfunctional fucked up heart even if you regretted it three seconds later. He’s an asshole for sure, but an asshole with something to him. He’s an asshole with sunrises on the tips of his fingers and a good reason for being an asshole. To be fair, he actually wasn’t much of an asshole today until you started to try and push his buttons. Your mouth is stupid and ugly and you want to take a needle to sew it shut. If you can, you’d never like to see Eridan Ampora again in your entire miserable life.

 

Rose’s house is as pristine and untroubled as you remembered. You resent it. God, that’s messed up, even for you, Sollux Captor. Resenting a house?

 

You work up the courage to knock on Rose’s door and attempt to present yourself like a normal human being. Lalonde answers, looking as infuriating put-together as ever. She’s pretty, you think deliberately, pretty in the way that you wouldn’t mind getting a kiss from her. You think that, but it’s not true. It’s like in the way that Tavros can think about stupid fairies as much as he wants but they aren’t actual things that are real. She smirks and says, “Wow, you look absolutely drained, Sollux Captor.”

 

You bring your hand to the back of your neck, and you take a few steps inside. “Yeah, every unfortunate encounter with Eridan is… draining.” It’s not quite a lie, actually. Your Douchebag-fueled miniature anxiety attack was actually quite draining. “Is TZ here yet?”

 

You hear Terezi call from the kitchen, “Present!”

 

Rose explains as she guides you back to meet with her, “Dave already took off. He enjoys the field work, but he’d rather leave more bureaucratic aspects of sleuthing to us.”

 

You don’t recall asking where Strider was, and you don’t recall caring. You nod anyways like it’s important information that you care about. “Did you make any progress with Meenah?”

 

Rose brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “A bit. I couldn’t see any visible injuries, but I didn’t get a reliable alibi. I think it would be your best interest to look into her case more, but only if no more pressing matters present themselves.” Entering the kitchen, she asks, “And with the Amporas?”

 

Terezi’s relaxed at the table, clutching a glass of water with lemon like it’s the best thing she’s ever had within her reach. You can’t quite place what, but there is something about her that seems off. You reason that because you would not want to be pressured into telling her something personal, you should not expect anything different from her. You proceed to be a secretive asshole and respond, “They’re clear. The gash on Cronus’ head was from a project he was doing. The guy’s just a klutz.” Come to think of it, you don’t really have any solid proof of either of them being innocent. All you have is a sickeningly strong gut feeling and knowledge of Dualscar Ampora that you never truly wished to have. You swallow and ask, “What about the Nitrams? Is Damara cleared?”

 

Terezi sighs, “Clear as a fucking whistle. A shiny, aluminum whistle, Appleberry.” The both of you are audibly nervous when you speak. The last thing the two of you need are secrets in a high-stakes investigation, but you let it rest. Your newly found secret is ready to burst out of your chest or eat you from the inside out, but you beat it down. Of everything and everyone that has hurt you over the years, what’s one more little thing?

 

Oblivious to the tension between the two of you, Rose asks, “So where do you plan on bringing the investigation next? We don’t want this trail to get stale, after all.”

 

Before you suggest going back to dig up dirt on Aranea Serket, Terezi says, “I suggest we go home to think everything over, and meet back here in the afternoon. We’ve been banging this case nonstop since the guy died, and I don’t want us to keep coming at it blindly… No pun intended. Maybe we just need some sleep.” She shouldn’t know where you are, at least not exactly, but Terezi stares at you when she says it. Right in your weird shitty eyes.

You feel the entire world pressing in your brain. Every wrong thing you’ve said and every tragedy you’ve witnessed and everything you’ve ever hated or feared it coming in through your eyes and ears. “Yeah,” you answer, “that sounds good to me.”


	15. 4N UNFORS33N OBST1CL3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some really nice comments so I wanted to write faster! Not that I wouldn't anyways, but sometimes the comments really make my day!  
> Also, for a next fic a question: Another mystery-type-thing, a classic feel-good highschool au, or a bullshit and slapstick comedy fueled highschool au? The ships I'm thinking that would fit each one (in order) are neprezi, fefnep, and erisol but before I've written anything (and before I've even picked one to write!) the ships can always be changed. After all, fanfic is more for the reader. I could always make it duel-shippy too- this one was only supposed to be neprezi before I figured no one would read it if it didn't have erisol too.

You are very close to pulling out every singular follicle of your hair out of pure frustration. You should’ve thought about actually reading the journal before you made the decision to be a piece of shit and hide it from everybody. It’s only now and one in the goddamn morning that you realise that you can’t read the journal because you’re fucking blind. It’s been two days and you’ve already compromised the investigation with a seemingly unforgivable mistake. After an hour of feeling up the page, you were only able to make out one substantial word: journal. You know this thing’s important, and you feel like it’s taunting you.

 

You should’ve told Dave about it. For the first time in a while, you feel utterly useless and stupid. Maybe he would’ve surprised you, would’ve cracked the lock right open and preserved it enough to put it back. You just pried it open with a butter knife, so now the lock’s busted and you’ve got to keep it. You stole it, destroyed it, and you can’t even read it! What a cruel twist of fate!

 

There is no way that you could ask Dave to read this for you at this point. You assume that he’d be pissed at you to no end if he found out that you stole something from the house. He’d tell Sollux and Rose and they’d back out straight away. You can’t even fathom telling Rose or Sollux, because they can’t even know that you and Dave were in the Makara house. For all they know, you visited Rufioh and went straight back. Is this not what creates everything you thought you hated? All of this deceiving and sneaking around behind people’s backs? You decide that if it is, it’s a worthy price to pay to make progress in this case. You need an inside view of Makara’s head, and perhaps the only way that you could get that is through his journal. If your peers can’t see that… then you’ve done nothing wrong in deceiving them.

 

You stand up to stretch your legs. You ponder who’s even left on that sorry looking suspect list that you and Sollux whipped up two days ago. Meenah’s failed to be successfully eliminated, as well as the Serkets. The Makara’s themselves remain, and for everyone else, you’ve only gathered shaky alibis. In terms of physical evidence, the only thing you’ve gathered is a rusty knife and a plethora of funny feelings. And a journal. A journal that is your key to actually getting somewhere. You could make a real break in this case if you could just read it. You’re certain of it.

 

Someone needs to read it for you. That much you figured out rather painfully, as the pen marks are simply too blunt and undefined for you to feel out. When it’s not braille, reading with your fingers is actually a lot harder than it may sound to a seeing person. People get into nasty habits of smashing their letters together and adding pretty loops with no real functional value, and at that point the indentations in the pages all start to feel like mush to you. So there’s no question, now, that you need to read the journal, and that someone needs to read it to you. However, as imperative as it may seem, you can’t really think of anyone who you could possibly ask. They would have to know about the case, but couldn’t be one of the investigators or the suspects, for very obvious reasons.

 

It hits you all at once that the only conceivable person that would and could help you read this journal is Nepeta Leijon.

 

You take the journal and hide it under your pillow, then cross to your open window. It’s breezy and cool for a summer’s night, especially considering how hot it was in the day, and how hot it will probably be tomorrow. You’re one hundred percent certain that the stars are out, but you wonder why they seem to matter to you so much. You wish that they would find some way to reveal themselves to you besides through the awe-inspiring but meaningless and abstract words of your closest companions. Stars have no defined color, no taste, smell, or texture. They remain, perhaps, your greatest sensory mystery.

 

“They look like hope,” said Vriska Serket, not looking up from her book. 

 

You’re fairly certain that you loved her at that point, if you did not love her longer and if you say you do not love her now. It was three years ago, and the only time that Vriska described something better and more warmly than Nepeta ever could have, but it was the only time that it actually mattered. You have constantly reprimanded yourself for letting her get away with such terrible acts of violence, both against you and others, but you had also always known that there was a reason for it. You were in love with her, like you used to wish every day that you could love someone like Karkat or even Sollux Appleberry Buttface Captor. There always remained something intensely wrong about that to you though, even if it seemed right for everybody else. As if you needed more than one hefty reminder that you will absolutely never fit in, and absolutely never meet the standards that are expected of you.

 

You twirl in your nightgown and walk to your record player. It’s late now, but there must be something lovely and quiet that you can play, just so you can hear something. Tonight is not a night for dancing; it is a night for dreaming and thinking. You put on the dusty record your Grandmother gave you shortly before she died. It’s Chopin, you know it by the sticker you put on the cover, but you couldn’t say which song is playing, or who is playing it. You just like it on nights like these because it’s soft and tells and story without needing words. You twirl and stand back at the window, as if you could fly and escape. You long so much for a beautiful, unspecified something, but you stay in your room and turn your face blankly towards the sky. The music persists, sad and lovely.

 

Nepeta may be weirded out at the prospect of having to read aloud Makara’s journal for you, but you don’t doubt that she’ll at least give it a try. If you catch her at a time where Equius is away, there’s going to be nothing that would technically stop her. You decide that you have to go very early in the morning, before Equius comes to visit and before Sollux or Rose gives you a call and asks you to investigate some other dead end. You’re hell bent on finding justice. Justice is what keeps you sane.

 

It was about this time last year that Mituna had his accident; you’re reminded by the numbness you feel from the wind hitting your face for too long. Sollux told you there was an emergency call in the middle of the night, and they only traced it back to a pay phone. They found him bleeding out without his wallet on him, and they supposed that he had gotten mugged by the side of the town hall. It was eerie, you overheard a doctor say when you came to visit, how early the call had been made. He theorized that it had been made by the assailant himself, overcome with guilt. Ironically, the early action had probably saved the guy’s life. You are reminded bitterly that the criminal was never apprehended, just as Vriska was left without consequences when she attempted to kill Aradia.

 

That’s your fault, because you knew and you never told. Vriska was crying and said she never meant to hurt her that badly, just give her a little scare is all. So when Aradia didn’t remember a thing when she woke up, you pretended that you didn’t either.

 

Never again. Never ever in your entire life will that happen again. You make yourself swear on every star in the sky.

 

Aradia was blank when she woke up in the hospital bed. You weren’t there, but you heard it from sources who heard it from sources and so on, much like you hear everything in this town. It wasn’t as if she forgot, because she remembered people and places and things very well, but she had forgotten herself. Or rather, her sense of self, that involved brash and human displays of joy, fear, anger, and curiosity. The charming curiosity that had all but defined Aradia had been sucked out, like every part of her except her body was dead. You were so angry when you saw her practically lifeless that you got it in your mind once and for all to tell Vriska how awful she was, but she did not want to hear you. She pushed you, and as you fell, you grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the stones surrounding the fire pit, effectively breaking her arm. You fell in the fire, and still have the scars to show for it. Sollux says they look kind of cool, and you suppose that’s enough to keep the memory from harassing you every night.

 

Not every night, but your memories tend to harass you now and again, like they are tonight. You decide suddenly that every fiber of your being wants you to sleep, and that you must sleep. You bid the stars good night and take your place underneath the covers. In walking on the border between sleep and consciousness, you let your mind wander to everybody you’ve ever met, every beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced, and every wrong you’ve ever endured and watched others endure. You think of people who mean everything to you and who mean nothing to you. You think of Latula struggling to maintain a ridiculous facade to hide her sensitivity. Gamzee, who turned to drugs to combat loneliness. Vriska, who’s cruel because she’s afraid that anything else from her may be rejected. Nepeta, who’s never failed to be pretty and lovely, but can’t seem to find her footing here on earth. You think about Sollux, who stays so frustratingly distant because… you’re not exactly sure what he feels. Perhaps he feels exactly like you, paranoid and afraid of becoming a burden on the people you love. You are convinced that is why the two of you found each other and have kept so closely ever since, because you know that the other is the one person in the world that could never hurt you more than you have been hurt. Tears well in your eyes, and you resign yourself to stop thinking once and for all if nothing productive is going to come out of it. You shut your eyes and let the music consume you.

 

You’re certain that you’ll be better in the morning. It must be the stars that inspire all of these ridiculous notions. It must be the stars, that look like hope, that tie your soul in knots and make you wish for something better. You drift off to sleep before your tears have dried.


	16. Fuck you, Romeo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys in the comments are being so nice! I think you guys will like this one!

You could have hardly called yourself asleep when the tapping started. It had begun as a periodic disturbance, once every few minutes or so, until it became so constant that you now dread leaving the sanctity of your duvet to find the source.

 

You were thinking about the same thing that you had been thinking of practically the whole afternoon, but you weren’t anxious by the time you settled into bed. Well, at least not the anxious that made you sweat and made your vision weak and made you feel a little bit like you were going to die. Now you feel empty. You don’t even really want to yell at Ampora like you did in the afternoon. You think you’ll just make your way over in the morning before Terezi gets around to calling you, and you’ll just tell him that you’re not interested in whatever he was trying to propose in so few words. You hope that he goes to college a long way away, one of those liberal colleges, and you hope he finds a boy to like him like that or whatever he even wants, and you hope he’s successful in life and never tries to contact you again. You feel all of that ‘carefree hate’ you had for him washing away. It’s sad and feels like growing up.

 

The tapping has reached a point where you cannot ignore it, and you’re fairly certain something has invaded your bedroom, and that you will probably die. You peek out from the corner of your cover to see absolutely no one in your room. In fact, you’re able to place the sound as being outside of the window entirely. Cautiously, you stand up and pull on a shirt and your weird thick glasses for your weird shitty eyes. Only then can you make out the individual pebbles as they hit the glass. When you open the window, one hits you in the nose.

 

“Hey, cut it out will you? It’s two in the goddamn morning,” You say plainly. You swore you hated him today, but you really can’t think of anything malevolent to say to Eridan Ampora. It’s fun messing with Karkat, Terezi, or hell, even Tavros to a point, but everything with Eridan has seemed to stop being fun and start being a bunch of serious adult emotion things that you always have to deal with, but you never thought you’d have to deal with them in respect to him. It’s a lot easier at this point for you to just be apathetic.

 

“Come down here,” he calls. It’s not loud enough to wake anyone, for sure, but it’s loud enough to annoy you.

 

You throw the pebble back down at him. “Tell me what you want first.” A breeze hits you and makes your cheeks burn. “And damn… you look cold.”

 

He responds, “‘S okay, I ain’t cold,” he says that, but you can see him shivering from the second story. He continues, “I wanted to explain, I mean. You didn’t give me much of a chance to offer any sort a’ explanation.”

 

“I think what you did was pretty self-explanatory,” you respond without your usual bite.

 

He breathes in and out deeply. “No, not really. Not everything is black and fuckin’ white. You weren’t sleepin’ anyways, ya’ fuckin’ insomniac. Just give me five minutes. Then I’ll be outta your hair. But, I mean, I just- I couldn’t leave shit like that, Captor.”

 

You were planning on visiting him in the morning anyways, but now would be as good a time as any. It’s more private, you suppose, and you’ll have an easier mind when you eventually do settle into sleep. You’ll just let him speak, reject him once and for all, and be done. “Alright,” you say. Before soundlessly descending the stairs, you put on a warmer pair of pants and a fleece. You grab an extra one for Ampora out of decency. He looked so fucking cold down there.

 

“Just put it on,” you say tossing him the jacket, “Okay, say whatever you want, man.”

 

He pauses for a minute and says, “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You’re already cold standing here, and you are in no mood for his typical bullshit.

 

He shakes his head. “Well, I know what I wanna say but it’s just… it ain’t comin’ out right. You’re just always there, I guess. Always the same.”

 

You scoff, even though you could’ve sworn that you were done being scornful. “Terezi’s been blind her whole life, doesn’t mean that I’m going to go kissing her.”

 

He runs his fingers through his hair and replies, “No, that ain’t what I mean at all. You’re just always you, even if that fuckin’ sucks most of the time. But I kind of like that you totally fuckin’ suck, even though you’re actually a decent enough guy.”

 

Annoyed, you ask, “What does that even mean?” You can’t exactly understand, but it makes you nervous finding that you echo the statement’s sentiments almost exactly. Eridan Ampora: Always just fucking there, and always the same no matter what. There was nothing complicated about him, you just beat the shit out of each other sometimes. You never really had trouble until this past week figuring him out, and you’ll be the first to admit that you actually kind of liked that about him. Evidently, the feeling was mutual.

 

He looks extremely pale at night, exposed or something. He’s not even wearing the rings that have come to define him in your mind. He is without the power to create sunsets; he’s without any power over anything. You examine his hand from where you’re standing and see that he has rather prominent tan lines where they usually lay. He continues, “You are about the farthest thing from perfection that I have ever seen in my damn life, but you don’t pretend you are. Everyone out there is always tryin’ to be somethin’ they’re not, but you’re always just short Sollux Captor with the thick glasses and the lisp and the god awful attitude, but I haven’t ever seen you try and pass yourself off as anythin’ else.”

 

You had always thought Eridan to consider himself flawless, but maybe you were wrong. Maybe he had just been content to be flawed all along. You say defensively, “I always thought you had a thing for Feferi.” And well, who wouldn’t have a thing for Feferi. You sure did for a long enough time.

 

He hits his forehead with his hand, “I thought I did for the longest fuckin’ time. I really did. I think I just wanted to want her or something stupid and really fuckin’ juveneille. It was empty and forced every time I even tried to come on to her. For you though… I feel somethin’. I couldn’t even tell you what kind of somethin’ it is ‘cause I kind of hate you, but it’s something. And I guess if you ever wanted to ask me ‘Eridan why the fuck did you kiss me, you sick fuckin’ fuck?’ I’d just say… I was real tired of not feelin’ somethin’.”

 

You stare at him for a preposterously long time. Eridan is the embodiment of unspecified something, but you never thought that could pass for love. He consumed himself with fire and hatred and excitement, and you supposed you really liked that even though you never thought about liking it. What you had with Aradia, you are certain is love. This is not love, but Eridan is completely right. It is absolutely something and you are so tired of never feeling something.

 

“Say something,” he says blankly. It must be sad and lonely being Eridan. Everyone is sad and lonely and you are very tired of wallowing in it every day, and convincing yourself that you cannot help it. Sometimes you can’t, but you at least want to try. 

 

The only words that escape your lips are, “It’s been more than five minutes.”

 

He laughs a cold, empty laugh, “That’s all?”

 

You retort, “I, uh. I guess it is. Unless, you know. Unless you weren’t finished. I’m not as tired as I thought I was.” You’re not sure what happened to just rejecting the guy and sending him off. Somewhere his words caught you and plunged a spear right through a place in your mind that you thought was invincible.

 

He smirks, “I’m done. It’s your turn, dimwit. I asked you.” There’s still that same bit of vulnerability, but he’s trying to cover up with snark. It occurs to you that he’s always like this, insecure and small, but you’ve never been able to see it until now. You never even cared.

 

“I don’t know.” You look down at your feet. “Fuck you, I guess. Or not. I don’t know.”

 

He rolls his eyes but his hands are shaking. “Well, lemme make the question simpler for you, Sol.”

 

“Sollux.” No nicknames. Only from Terezi.

 

“Yeah, Sollux. You know what it says in Leviticus?”

 

You’ve never read the Bible, only a few excerpts when it was necessary. But you know to which part he’s referring, so you nod your head.

 

“Yeah?” He continues, “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m already going to hell. Held a damn Bible closer than anything my whole life, and look where that’s got me. But I figured this afternoon, since I didn’t really ask for your consent when I kissed you, that God might give you another chance. So this time, I’m going to ask permission. Do you want to go to hell with me? It’s a yes or no question.” He doesn’t even look at you in the eye, he’s just looking at his fingernails. He probably can’t even see the dirt; it’s dark. There’s not even any streetlamps in sight, and everyone in your house is asleep.

 

You scan your small yard, filled with little plants and cute looking suburban rocks. There’s even a nice white picket fence, like the American Dream all in one pretty image. Cut the other boy out, and it’s the American Dream, even if you don’t think the American Dream actually exists. You don’t think hell exists either, and that it was just a made up thing because people always like to think up imaginary dire consequences for people like their fathers. You’re certain, however, that his question was more metaphorical than anything, as he knows that you’re not religious, and he just wanted to avoid a more awkward question like ‘Can I do it again, or do you want to completely reject me right here and now? It’s a yes or no question.’

 

You respond before your mind has time to catch up. No words, just a very small nod. You let yourself be kissed, and you let yourself for once in your life do it back. And you let it happen again and again until you are certain you need to sleep, or that the sun will rise and leave you to burn.

You are not sure what you feel, as it’s nothing akin to tenderness or love. But it is something. And God, how you missed feeling something.


	17. R34D MY M1ND

As you step out of the car, Latula calls, “Be sure to send Meulin our love, alright Terezi?”

 

“Yeah, I will,” you lie.

 

You barely hear the engine fade as she drives away. You’re more focused on walking the path that leads to Nepeta’s door. You hold the journal tightly to your stomach under your dress, and you feel like an intruder. You called her this morning to make sure it was okay, which it was, but you know you know you’re doing something bad. Cognitive dissonance- it gets you every time like your own personal head cop.

 

You brought your cane with you because you have no guide, and you don’t want to fall down or walk in circles. You feel silly when you do that, even though your friends assure you that there’s nothing to feel silly about. Nepeta luckily has a short, sweet driveway that you know well, and getting to the door is not much of a problem.

 

“Hello?” It’s Horuss. You can tell just from the cadence and that god awful superior tone. It must still be bad if he’s here this early. You wonder if he slept here so Meulin might not feel so alone. “Terezi, what are you doing here at this ungodly hour.”

 

That was rude, you think. It’s not as if you weren’t given permission. And it’s not as if he’s not here, too, in a house that’s not his own. “It’s seven a.m. Horuss, time to tackle the day.”

 

He takes a deep sigh. You wonder when he became the official Leijon doorman, or when he became so sad and tired all of a sudden. Perhaps that’s a thing you don’t want to wonder, because you’ve let yourself be consumed by everyone else’s problems so much and you just don’t think that you could take it. He asks, “I assume you’re here to see Nepeta?”

 

You smile politely and say, “Oh certainly, if she’d have me.”

 

Before Horuss Zahhak can respond to your snark, Nepeta comes to the door to greet you. “Terezi!”

 

“Hey Nepeta, how are you?” You respond. 

 

She closes the door behind you, assuring you that Horuss is out of earshot. “So what brings you here so early? It’s unlike you to get up before the sun even rises.” She laughs softly, sweet like honey and old piano music.

 

That makes your heart take a little leap. “It’s still dark out? Take a minute, Nepeta. Before we do anything, just tell me about the sky. Are there stars?”

 

She takes your arm, and begins walking around to her backyard with you. You said you wanted to talk outside again, after all. “It’s a nice sky, Rezi, but there aren’t too many stars. They’re all fading for the day. The sun’s in the middle of rising and the whole thing looks like watercolor paints that the painter let run togethfur, a little streak of orange turning all the black into purple.”

 

“It sounds beautiful,” you say dreamily.

 

“Oh no,” she responds, “It’s nothing Purrfect. Besides, the paints are probably ruined now.” 

 

You smile. It’s always like her to take metaphors a little too far and to describe things a little too in depth. “Remember those days when we used to role play together? You know, when we were kids?” You weren’t exactly little kids, still twelve, thirteen, even at fourteen, but you were kids enough. If it counts for anything, the last year has felt like it’s aged you two or three. You can’t imagine what it’s done to Sollux, who’s gone through even more. It hits you that maybe for him it was worse. Your main struggle involved yourself and your own faults and near-death experiences, whereas he just had to stand idly by and watch each individual tragedy strike. You feel an inexplicable longing to be eleven years old and happy again.

 

“Nepeta remembers our role playing days very clearly, and extends a polite offer to continue if Terezi Pyrope wants!” She pulls a chair out at the lovely and familiar little patio table. The chair’s dry, but the table’s wet with morning dew. You love dew. You love it on your wrists and ankles and toes, because Sollux said it’s something you don’t see much. He said unless you looked closely, you wouldn’t know it was there at all. You just have to feel it, and feeling is one thing you are very good at.

 

You shake your head reluctantly. “Maybe later, Nepeta. But I came over because I have something…. very serious to talk about. And I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

 

“Well, I’m always here to help out a good furiend like you. What’s so serious about it, anyways? Is it about, um,” she lowers her voice before asking, “Kurloz?”

 

You reach, somewhat tastelessly, up your skirt to pull out the journal, and you place it cautiously into Nepeta’s small hands. They are so small, you think, and lovely. “You can’t tell anybody about this. And I mean anybody. Not Sollux, not Equius, not even your sister, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay,” you explain, “I found this when Dave Strider and I were in Kurloz’s dad’s bedroom. No one knew we were there, and even Dave didn’t know that I took this. I can’t read it, is the problem, though, but I made out the word ‘journal’. If we have some inner records of what happened with Makara in the last days that Kurloz was alive, then I think we’ll have a solid lead. We’re not… we’re just not getting anywhere else yet.”

 

She’s silent for a moment, but you hear the pages rustle. You wish you could see the look in her eyes. Fear? Disgust? Approval? You can’t tell when people are so silent. You absolutely loathe silence.

 

“Nepeta?” you ask.

 

“Well,” she says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, “I guess we should start with page one, shouldn’t we?”

 

“Yeah,” you respond quickly, “yeah, we should.” You could not describe the relief that flows over you in words, so you don’t. You let the knot in your stomach come undone and you let your guilt subside to the back of your mind.

 

“I thought you said this was his father’s?” Nepeta asks.

 

“I- I did. Yes. Well, I found it in his father’s room. Is there a problem?”

 

Nepeta reads off the first line of the book. “Journal of Kurloz Makara. Intruders unwelcome but will be left unpersecuted.”

 

“Holy shit,” you can’t help muttering. It just slips out. “Holy- wow. We actually have a testament from the deceased here, don’t we? This is big. This is better than having his dad’s journal.”

 

“Why d’you think his dad kept it. Is it pawsible that his dad wanted to solve the mystery too?”

 

You nod instinctively. “Yes very likely. Why don’t you read a little bit and we’ll find out, hm?” You don’t think his dad was trying to solve the case. He either already knows who did it, or doesn’t want to know who did. You bet, like his dead wife’s jewels, he kept his dead son’s journal as a reminder that he wasn’t always dead. 

 

“Alright,” she says after taking a deep breath, “Here I go! It’s dated April 13th from this year. And uh- I guess I’ll start now. ‘I have been getting the increasing sense over the past months that I am being watched. There is not a solitary moment that I feel as if I have to myself. Meulin thinks that I am crazy, and Mituna Captor can unfortunately no longer understand my concerns due to their abstract nature. My father has been for the past six days away, and I have not seen my brother in that time. I am beginning to fear that I may be slowly going insane, so may He have mercy on my soul.’ And then there’s something in Latin that I can’t read. I don’t know anyone that speaks good Latin anymore.” She and you both say nothing for a moment before Nepeta adds solemnly, “That was very dark, Terezi.”

 

You only say, “Aradia Megido speaks Latin. She reads it, at least.” She’s right, it is dark, and you’re absolutely certain that it’s going to get darker leading up to his murder. You might wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it, but you’re certain that the killer is hidden in the leather binding. “Listen, Nepeta if you don’t feel comfortable, I’m sure I could find someone else to-”

 

“No, Rezi, I want the killer brought to justice as much as you do! And who the hell else would you ask? Do you want me to keep going?”

 

Maybe you could’ve asked Aradia, but there’s only a thirty or so percent chance that she’d actually sit down and do it for you. Or maybe Kanaya Maryam, but you’re not totally convinced that they’re off your suspect list yet. You nod tersely. “Yeah, Nepeta, go on.”

 

“Okay,” she says firmly, “The next one is dated April 16th, so three days later. ‘I’ve seen my brother today for the first time in nine days. When confronted about his whereabouts, he was extremely unresponsive. I am afraid that the devil may be exercising some control over his soul, and I will be praying for him. I should have thought that I would feel safer with my brother returning to the house, but he spends his nights staring out of the window and his days gone from home. I am concerned that he now visits school infrequently and that his drug use is becoming an uncontrollable problem. I try to spend nights at home sparingly to avoid initiating unfortunate contact with my brother until my father returns. I am beginning to wonder if there is no way that I can save him.’ There’s the same phrase in Latin again, Rezi. Maybe later you’ll just have to ask Aradia what it means if it’s the same one.”

 

“Is that all for April 16th?” You ask seriously. 

 

“Yes. He’s direct. Or he was direct.” She pauses for a moment. When she speaks again, it’s sad and quiet like nothing you’ve ever heard, “It’s still setting in.” It reminds you of Sunday morning when she said a short prayer for him because no one else could. You think about her large words and small hands that you’ve never seen, but you just know them. You try to look where you think she is, or rather know she is because you can feel her, and wonder why you never loved her as much as you loved Vriska. You suppose it’s a very wrong thing to think about, but you don’t think wrong and right really mean as much as they used to for you when you were still a little kid. Maybe it’s all very objective, anyways. She asks hesitantly, “Would you like me to read more?” and draws you out of your thoughts.

 

“If you could stomach it, I have time,” you say.

 

“The next one’s a bit of a jump. A whole month, actually. It’s may 16th. ‘Father has been back for several weeks now, but things have been relatively unnatural. I am reminded forcefully today, as it is the anniversary of the event, of my mother’s untimely death. Unlike my father, I cannot become exceedingly sentimental as I knew her only six years of my young life, and of those six years I can scarcely remember two. However, I remember my mother as kind. Perhaps if given the opportunity to know her, Gamzee and I too would have been more kind. The strange feeling has not stopped; at this point I would much prefer isolation. Tomorrow I intend to visit Aranea Serket so that she may help me make sense of this paranoia. As it happens, today I had an encounter with Cronus Ampora, as fleeting as they are. He stole a pen from me, and attempted to instigate a physical conflict when confronted. Normally, such an insignificant encounter of the sort wouldn’t hold my attention, but I’m slowly beginning to feel like the entire world is turning against me, or waiting for a moment to strike. I was almost certain that Cronus’ dislike for me comes from his affection for Meulin, but recently I’ve been feeling as if certain does not exist for me anymore. Ever since my father’s campaign’s kickoff, I’ve noticed Meenah Peixes’ distaste towards me increase as well; I continuously fear the legacy that my father has left me. For once in my life, I find myself sincerely hoping that no afterlife exists, as I would never want my mother to see what has become of me. I’m sorry.’ There’s the same Latin at the bottom, except this time he’s written it three times.” She breathes for a moment. “Is this helping at all, Terezi?”

 

“Yes, it really is Nepeta. But I think, in order to get any real leads we need to get closer to the date he was killed. When’s the next entry?” You think about Kurloz’s words, and how he might sing them to the birds and spin grand stories to other ghosts if they might listen. Such a sad, lonely boy could have surely written epics if he set his mind to it. Nepeta said she heard him scream, but why didn’t he ever sing and speak?

 

You hear Nepeta flip the page. It’s a nice kind of paper- expensive thick cardstock. “The next one also skips pretty far ahead. That’s the twentieth of June. But from there it all seems to be pretty constant until the day that he died. Should I-”

 

“If you can, yes,” you interrupt. “But could you read the Latin first? The phrase he keeps repeating?”

 

“I’m not very good at Latin pronunciation.” You notice how she’s not using puns now, or being silly like she usually. You feel very bad for giving her this burden and you wish you thought earlier about asking Aradia. Kurloz’s apparent fixation on death and the deceased would have interested her.

 

You say gently, “Just try. I can’t read it myself.”

 

She says slowly and painfully, “Dabit deus his quoque finem. That’s what he writes over and over again, Rezi. Should I go to the June twentieth entry now?”

 

“Yes,” you say with a nod. Dabit deus his quoque finem. That is doubtless a clue, if you could just figure it out. If only you could read a dead boy’s mind, you could help him. Did he know he was going to die? He does not seem to write cryptically, as if he wanted someone to find and read his journal. 

 

She clears her throat. “June twentieth, 1964. Over a month ago Aranea assured me that my paranoia was nothing of substance, but today I am feeling it more strongly than I ever have before. It’s been now four days since I’ve seen my brother, but when I speak to him, if at all, he is completely withdrawn, and speaks only of gods I’ve never heard of. I think such isolation can drive a person to mad thoughts, and I am not sure if I can save him. I am not wholly convinced that I can, but if I am to try I must know where he goes to at night. Gamzee reminds me of Mituna Captor these days, with his words like those of lucid dreamers. If it weren’t for my brother, I may have forgotten that June 19th was the anniversary of his incident. I am still unsure about my actions that night, or lack thereof, per se. Perhaps in not letting him die, and staying with him instead of pursuing his killer, I have doomed him to a life trapped inside himself. I have since come to conclude that such a brilliant mind should not live to see itself confined. With words I have never brought about anything but sin and misfortune to myself and others; even Meulin I have hurt with my night terrors. I would sew my lips shut with a needle and thread if that were not such a grisly thing. It was a hazy night like this one when I had my last night terror; I screamed loudly enough to wake Nepeta. I suppose she and many others must think me a monster, but I have done my best in the only way that I know how. Dabit deus his quoque finem.” She adds impossibly and heart wrenchingly sadly, “I never thought that he was any kind of monster. Pawnster? Maybe? I didn’t think he was a monster, Terezi.”

 

For Nepeta, the most shocking part must be that she was mentioned in one of Kurloz’s last statements to the world. For you, it’s his implication that he made the call that saved Mituna’s life, and came to regret it later! What a twist! You wonder if his actions towards Mituna could have held any bearing on the way things turned out a whole year later. It’s not imperative for Nepeta to know that, however. You say, “Terezi politely requests that Nepeta hand her the journal for safekeeping.”

 

Nepeta laughs a weak laugh, and hands you the book. “Nepeta hands Terezi her journal and offers her some breakfast. If she wants, I mean.”

 

You half-smile. There’s a lot of grim things in the world, but you don’t have to resign yourself to them. Justice is beautiful, and so is Nepeta, you decide. “Hey Nepeta, what do you look like?”

 

“That’s a pawfully strange question, Terezi. I look normal, I think. Normal fur a fifteen year old girl. Brown hair, green eyes, a little bit short. Freckles. You know what I look like!” She insists. You know she must be embarassed. You hear it in the way that her voice goes up a bit at the end.

 

The thought crosses your mind that you should politely request to kiss her, because you like her a lot and you’ve never gotten to kiss another girl. The thought makes you truly happy, but you let it fly away like the rest of your pretty thoughts about love and stars. There’s no way that you could read her mind, and there’s no way that she could read yours. “Terezi would be delighted to share breakfast with Ms. Leijon.”


	18. Pretty Giirl2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this won't be updating quite as it was for the past few weeks; I start school next week and I've been rushing to get all of my summer work done. (AP calc already stinks and I'm not even in class yet...) I would promise to update every Sunday or something, but I'm always that guy who ends up asking for unnecessary extensions for all of his papers... Anyways, let's just say I will try not to go two weeks without an update! (ALSO thanks again for all of the ridiculously nice and genuine comments)

Kanaya has a nice little home. It’s small and such, like you’d expect, but it’s decorated well. She’s always nervous with people in her home, which you suppose you could understand, but Rose insisted that the three of you had to meet in Kanaya Maryam’s home.

 

Kanaya’s very pretty. She doesn’t look like most of the girls at your school, or any of them really, because she’s black, but you still think she looks very pretty at school and when you see her in town. You remember once that Eridan never thought she was pretty, and once told her that harshly, but now you know that he doesn’t really think any girls are pretty like you do. And he’s also probably pretty racist. He got a good punch for it like he deserved, and had too much shame or something to hit back. You remember that wholly as a good day. You think that he never said anything to Aradia, who’s Japanese, because he was afraid that you might punch him. Your conflicts always tended to be rather personal in nature.

 

“Did you ever get in touch with Terezi?” you ask Rose. It’s supposed to be another meeting to decide what you’ll investigate next, but you can’t very well do that with Terezi. You had been thinking of her as the case’s unofficial-official leader. 

 

Rose, sitting patiently at the table says, “I got in touch with her sister. She said Terezi was with Nepeta, but she would be happy to bring her over in a few minutes or so.”

 

“Nepeta?” you ask, “Why was TZ with Nepeta this early?” But why were you with Eridan Ampora at two in the morning? There’s lots of questions like that for everybody, and not everyone needs to know anything. If it was important, you’re sure that she would have told you. You trust Terezi’s judgement far more than you trust your own.

 

You’re thinking about him again. You are thinking about him in the most general terms, but you’re thinking of him. You wish you could stop thinking altogether without sleeping or dying. You stopped thinking for a while last night, and it was very lovely. You weren’t even thinking about him, then. 

 

Rose shrugs and raises an eyebrow. “Why should I know? Besides, it doesn’t matter so long as she’s here fairly soon. We’ve got time to kill.”

 

Nine in the morning. You suppose there is time, if time is a thing you can ever say there is enough of. “So are you two… friends?” you ask, trying to make conversation. It is a pathetic attempt.

 

Kanaya nods curtly after eying Rose. “Yes,” she says quickly and gently, “we’re good friends.” Unlike Rose, Kanaya enunciates her words too clearly, giving her sentences a choppy and strange quality. Rose speaks rather fluidly.

 

They’re both very pretty in their own ways. In such broad terms, though, you don’t think that you’ve ever met a girl who wasn’t pretty. You’ve never met a girl who you never saw do something lovely, like brush her hair behind her ears or put her hand up to her cheek while reading a book. There’s nothing you could generalize about girls except for their pure prettiness, even when pretty doesn’t mean the same for all of them. Pretty could be speaking or joking or laughing or anything, really, but it’s always there.

 

“So Kanaya, are you in on this now?” You don’t know how you feel about this original rogue case now being taken on by a full blown police department. Counting Dave Strider, there’s five people involved. That may be even more than you have suspects; you’re actually not sure anymore.

 

You’re thinking about him again. You’re thinking about how your first and second kisses were clumsy but your third wasn’t. And your fourth and fifth and however many there were.

 

She comes to the table and takes the seat between you and Rose, leaving one more for Terezi. “I- Yes. Yes, if that’s okay with you, of course. I’d love to help in whatever way possible.” She springs up once again upon hearing a knock at the door. “Oh, it must be Terezi.”

 

The way Rose watches her when she leaves the door makes you wonder if there’s something between them, because you pick up on that stuff sometimes. The way she looks at her, just going to the door, makes you think that being in love doesn’t just mean doting over the very pretty things people do. You’ve got to love the boring things about them, too. Like the way they walk to the door, or the way their rings shine in the sun. Otherwise, you’re left with nothing when the novelty of it all wears off.

 

“Hey,” Terezi you hear Terezi say, “Is Appleberry Blast here yet?”

 

“Present!” you call from the kitchen. Terezi comes in shortly to meet you and Rose, with Kanaya following.

 

“So,” Terezi announces, taking her seat, “Where to next?” You can’t read her face; you never can. She can read you, and you can’t do the same for her. Your intelligence lies in numbers and patterns- human emotions are essentially lost on you. (You’re thinking about him again.) What was she doing with Nepeta so early? (You’re thinking about him again.) How come there’s no small talk? (You’re thinking about him again.) Why is she so nervous? You’re thinking about him. You never really stopped and you would give anything to tell Terezi everything. You’d say that you don’t really love him but he made things stop sucking so much for just a little bit. You’d tell that you had forgotten, just for a moment hours before the sun crept over the horizon, you felt like the world was kind of an okay place to be. You would tell her that pretty doesn’t mean anything, and that maybe ‘girls’ and ‘boys’ doesn’t mean anything either. At least it doesn’t mean what everyone takes it to mean, anyways. Pretty girls should be able to wear trousers and kiss other girls.

 

You don’t say any of the things that you want to say. You say instead, “We should revisit one of our suspects, now that we’ve gone through most of the list.” Nonchalantly, you add, “Aranea, maybe?”

 

She nods, albeit slowly. “Yeah, that’s a fine idea. And we should send Rose and Kanaya to…?”

 

You think for a moment. It’s been Terezi calling almost exclusively every single shot for the past few days. Do you even care who killed Kurloz Makara? Terezi told you it was like how Mituna’s assailant was never caught, but are you really angry about that? Are you angry with the law, or with him? Maybe you’re angry with yourself. You can’t even remember the last time that you tried talking with Mituna for real like you used to. It’s the same with Aradia; you stopped talking to her when you just saw that she was empty. Before you go chasing the murderer of somebody you don’t know, it follows that you should try to mend the bridges you have burnt with the living. They didn’t burn then just for being how they are; that makes you feel guilty and distant. You are a ghost, but you are not singing like Terezi might think, you are not at peace. You are trying desperately to be real again. “Maybe back to the church to see if they can gather anything new about the place.”

 

Rose scoffs to remind you and Terezi that she is, in fact, in the room, even though you are talking about her and Kanaya like they are not. “I’d love to go back to the church, if we knew what we were looking for, that is.”

 

You sigh and wish you could be as apathetic as you really want to be. God, you really, really want to be apathetic. You want to stop thinking about him and everyone and everything, because maybe it’s just too much for your pathetic little brain. 

 

“Clues,” Terezi instructs, even though the church was not her idea. It was a random and meaningless idea, “It only happened a few days ago, so look for things Kurloz or the murderer would have left behind.”

 

“So the Serkets for us and the church for them?” You ask Terezi quietly. You do not look at Kanaya or Rose. It was originally Terezi who was skeptical about including Rose, but something has changed, you guess. You are content to leave it at that, because you are Sollux Captor and you do not like to pry. 

 

“Yes,” says Kanaya. You like Kanaya enough, but you really didn’t ask Kanaya.

 

You do this thing sometimes where you get lost in your head. It’s a big place, the brain is, packed into all of our little skulls. So you get lost thinking about people and things and ideas. You don’t mean to do it when you do, because then people pull you back to the surface and ask what in God’s name you were thinking about. Lately, you’ve been thinking about him a lot without really stopping.

 

But you’re thinking about Aradia this time.

 

“Sollux,” She said with all that hair falling in her eyes, “Someday, you and I are going to tour the world. If we start raising money now, we could take a gap year and do it, for real.”

 

You brushed it back for her, and she didn’t flinch. “When I’m fifteen I’ll get a job. I’ll buy us both tickets to Peru.” You were fourteen and believed it was possible. Now you’re almost sixteen and a lot has changed.

 

“I can work too,” she insisted.

 

“Have a bake sale,” you said, “You’d make more money that way.”

 

If you could have afforded it, you would have left on the spot with Aradia and the two of you could have toured the world forever. You would make disguises and no one would be able to find you. You would have missed the rest of them, though. Terezi. Your parents and your brother. Even Eridan.

 

You wouldn’t travel the world with him, because you don’t think you could live with letting yourself become completely absorbed in him. You don’t think he could do it either. It was nice for a few minutes or so, but you are not in love.

 

“Oh, don’t worry I will,” she said. She did, actually. You never got a job but she had quite a few bake sales. Should you go and ask her if she could still bake? If she’s still any good?

 

It was those times with her that were the best of your life. They seep in and out of your memory to remind you what it feels like not to be such a ghost. You forgot what pretty meant because everything she ever did was beautiful. It was always with her, but you see it sometimes in Eridan too. You just have to catch him with his guard down.

 

“Stuck-up fuck,” you called him.

 

“Say it again, Captor, to my face,” he said, so smug. He was always smug and unbearable.

And you punched him because you absolutely loved it.


	19. 1N B3TW33N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally set an outline for this to have 34 chapters, but it's subject to change at any time. I don't like to drag fics on for too long, but I also don't want to make the same mistake I did last time of ending it too abruptly :(

You still feel Kurloz’s journal pressing tight to your body, as you never had the chance to drop it off. He wanted someone to find it, you know that he did. He didn’t want it locked away behind his dad’s dresser, he wanted it found and he wanted the crime solved. Did he know? You thought it before, in the morning, but it’s the question of all the questions you have that’s been bothering you the most. You’re a detective, you’re objective, but you just can’t get it out of your head that he must have known, from the way that he wrote. And that hurts like nothing else.

 

You have to go back tonight. You just have to know more about Kurloz in his final days. If not for the case, even, you have to know for yourself. In an instant, you whip your head around to face where Sollux must be, right behind you. “Was that you?” You ask.

 

“Was I what?” he asks back.

 

The Humming you think. You had heard humming, and there’s no such thing as ghosts that can sing back to the living. Sollux doesn’t hum, though. “Never mind, this place just spooks me out is all.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Sollux mutters. If he knew what Vriska did to Aradia, you bet that it would be ten times worse for him. “Are you going to knock of the door?”

 

You only respond by bringing your fist down hard on the Serket’s door. Vriska told you once that it was blue when blue didn’t use to mean anything to you. The humming is gone and you are convinced that it was absolutely one hundred percent in your head. You can tell from the distance she keeps that the person who opens the door is Aranea.

 

“Can I help you?” She says calmly. Yes, definitely Aranea. Vriska told you once that she was tall, and that was all she really said about Aranea ever. Latula told you that she was controlling and dressed like a slut. You don’t like to think that either accounts gave you a truly accurate picture of Aranea Serket. In fact, they made you a little bummed out that that’s all that she got. If she died, you wonder if her eulogy would just be about a slut who talked too much about things no one cared about. You wonder what Kurloz’s will be next week. If a meteor fell out of the sky and knocked you dead right here, you wonder what yours would sound like. You know how your family and how Sollux and Nepeta and maybe even Karkat would speak for you, but how Vriska could say the most true and most good things about you. 

 

“Yeah,” Sollux says, “We were wondering if you’d be able to answer a few questions about Kurloz Makara for us? We told your sister a few days ago that we were putting together a sort of memorial for-”

 

Aranea responds with a curt, “Sure, but I didn’t know him well.”

 

You chime in, almost accidentally, “We’re starting to think that no one really did.”

 

“You can come in, if you want,” she adds. She’s either ignoring your comment or she has nothing to say to it. “We just made some lunch.”

 

Sollux leads you inside at Aranea’s direction. You don’t need to be lead, though. The turns, the cracks of Vriska Serket’s house have always felt like your real home. At one point, she did too, in the way that people can be a home.

 

“I see the mystery crew’s still at it,” you hear from across the kitchen. That’s Vriska alright, snarky and honest. You, Sollux, and Aranea take a seat at the table with her. You’re close enough to smell the perfume- the sickeningly lovely strawberry perfume.

 

Aranea sneers, “Stay out of this Vriska, they’re trying to put together a memorial for Kurloz.” She adds more quietly, “He’s damn lucky somebody cares enough to.” Or he was lucky, you’re not sure which would be appropriate. You feel guilty all of a sudden that you and Sollux aren’t actually putting together a memorial for him. Maybe after you find the killer you can put together a little one, invite a few people and light a few candles in the woods. You’ll ask if someone wants to say something that they were afraid to at the funeral. No one would cry if they could help it, because you’d only tell the good stories where you found them. Everyone might leave forgetting how he died.

 

Vriska scoffs. “Yeah, alright. That’s what they told mom too when they tried to weasel information out of me. They’re just playing fake-cops and trying to frame the guys suicide as a murder. They’ll pin it on anyone if you give them a chance.”

 

“Vriska,” Sollux says sternly, “You know that’s not-”

 

“Then we should help them,” Aranea says simply. She has a tendency, you know, to never be simple about anything, but she speaks simply now that it matters. “If you and I did nothing to hurt him, then anything we say can only help him. It… it wasn’t suicide. We must all maintain a love for the living and a duty to the dead.” Aranea doesn’t sound like a tall controlling wordy slut to you. She just sounds like a person. After a short pause she says, “What can I help you with?”

 

You start, albeit a bit stunned. You can’t see her, naturally, but you make a conscious effort not to turn your head towards Vriska. “How well did you know Kurloz?”

 

“He was my classmate, above all else. Outside of school, we barely met unless by chance. If I had to describe our relationship in one word, it would be ‘friendly’. Once in a while we would do homework together. At times I suppose we both leaned on each other for wisdom, but it didn’t go beyond that. I can’t say that I won’t miss him though.” She adds through a sad laugh, “In May he told me he’d teach to read Latin.”

 

If you get her alone, maybe she could translate that phrase for you. Dabit deus his quoque finem. You can’t ask in front of Sollux, though. “Did Kurloz ever speak to you?”

 

“No, no of course not. He never spoke- not since he was ten. He wrote, though, and he signed. I can’t sign as well as Meulin and Gamzee could, so he mostly wrote notes to me.” He never spoke since he was ten, Aranea says, but he spoke once last year. He spoke on the phone to save Mituna’s life berated himself for it later. He would’ve sewn his lips shut and just let him die. You think about vowing to keep your own lips shut forevermore, only listening and touching and being. 

 

“Did he ever tell you why he didn’t speak?” Sollux asks.

 

Aranea says, “We weren’t especially close, as I said, but I’m almost sure that it was religious convictions. He was deeply religious, after all. I operated under the assumption that he was, in that way, somewhat akin to a monk, but as a protestant.”

 

Wrong, wrong, is all that you hear in your head. She is wrong. He was religious, but he kept his mouth closed, not out of love for God, but out of hate for himself. You hear Sollux write furiously, clinging on to her words, all wrong wrong wrong. 

 

You hear Vriska from across the table, “I think he was just crazy to do that. Trying to crawl out of his own skin in any way he knew how.”

 

She’s right, she so right, but Aranea turns to chastise her, “You didn’t know him.”

 

“Did you?” Vriska responds. You wonder why she hasn’t left yet. It makes you uncomfortable when she’s in the same room with her, but you don’t want her to leave. God, if she were just a little less cruel, a little less demanding, a little less violent and cynical, you could have stayed. You really could have, and you could have melted into her for the rest of your life. If she had just said yes when you asked her to run away, you would have never watched her hurt the people she loves and you never would have watched yourself let them all down. It would have been the two of you, alone, and the whole world to hide in.

 

“Just ask another question,” Aranea says.

 

You know it’s risky, but Sollux won’t catch on if you only vaguely reference the journals. “Did Kurloz ever talk about feeling paranoid? Or did he ever talk to you about conflicts with his peers?” Of course, you’re referring to the May 16th entry, but no one but you, Nepeta, and ol’ 6-feet-under can know that. This is your way of letting Sollux in, and hopefully getting another perspective in the process.

 

She takes a very deep breath. You wonder if she’s contemplating lying. “He never told me much about his conflicts, but. He told me about paranoia once. Around the middle of May, actually. He told me about feeling like someone was watching him, or that someone wanted to get him. It was in a desperate way, too, in a way that made even me feel nervous. He mentioned things like his brother telling him complete nonsense and his father being gone for weeks at a time.” She stops. Then she says very slowly, “I told him that he had nothing to worry about. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault, and if I would’ve said something better he would’ve gotten away.”

 

You’ll have a little memorial for him, you swear. You’ll invite Sollux and Meulin and Nepeta and Aranea and Gamzee if you could get to him. You’d invite Latula if she wanted real closure and not the fake sad kind that she’d get at a funeral. You could invite Rufioh who would tell you about the fairies and make sure that dead Kurloz could hear all of the things you’d say to him. You’d want him to hear every single apology, because it is your duty to the dead. Then you could hear the birds echo his response.

 

Sollux says, actively ignoring her confession, “Did you see anything of him past that point in May?”

 

“School,” she responds immediately, “but it was tense. He was still worried. We didn’t talk after the last day. The last thing I said to him was ‘have a good summer’. Those are the last words I ever said him. My friend. He was my friend.”

 

You feel Sollux touch your arm and you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. “Can I speak to Aranea alone for a minute?”

 

You sense Sollux and Vriska leave before you proceed. “He deserved so much better,” you tell her.

 

You hear her sniff, as if she were tearing up. You sincerely hope that she’s not. Tears are blue and grey like clouds and lake Erie in the winter. They are cold and lonely like you never want anyone to have to be. “He wasn’t happy here,” she finally says, “I wish things could have been different for him.”

 

“You said before that he taught you some Latin?” you ask gently.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Could you try translating a phrase for me?”

 

She composes herself. “I could try.”

 

You grab the paper and the pencil that Sollux left on the table, and hand it to Aranea. “Do you mind if I dictate it to you?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

You clear your throat and spell out the whole phrase. Maybe he would have taught it to her if it was so important to him.

 

Exasperated, she says, “He didn’t teach me very much.”

 

“It’s okay,” you reply, “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

 

“Ah! Wait, wait, I know one word, maybe two of them. ‘Deus’ is for sure ‘God’. He taught me how to say a few religious things. And ‘finem’- I can only guess- would mean something like ‘ending’ as in the word ‘final’ or maybe ‘goodness’ or ‘holiness’ like the word ‘fine’. Those are just guesses, though. Why do you want to know?”

 

You shrug. “I saw it written on something of my mother’s and wondered what it meant. I figured it may have been something important in the justice system.” You suppose you will just have to ask Aradia Megido.

 

“Vriska, what do you want?” Aranea snaps suddenly. You tense up, and ready yourself to leave.

 

“I wanted a word with Terezi, just very quickly, if that’s alright with you both?” Her voice is uncharacteristically gentle, making you relax. It should be a warning sign.

 

“That’s fine,” you say against every one of your senses. Well, every sense except that vague sense of longing that twinges in the back of your mind every time that you think about her. Every time you smell her or touch her or hear her voice. So you stay, thinking that her voice sounds like stars today instead of blood. Aranea, with no business left here, leaves the two of you alone. 

 

“How’s your shiner?” you mutter.

 

She sighs, “Terezi, you know that I had nothing to do with him.”

 

“I don’t know anything that you don’t tell me,” you respond.

 

She says plainly, “It’s an ugly story. You wouldn’t understand it.”

 

“I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

 

“God, Terezi,” she asks, “Why do you even care about this so much? You never talked to Kurloz Makara in your life. He was a lost cause before he was dead.” She adds very quickly, “You know I didn’t kill him. You’re just being stupid.”

 

You never talked to Kurloz Makara, but you knew him. You know him now, because you have all of his most private thoughts pressed to your back. You have begun to trace the essence of his short and paradoxical existence, and it’s made you fear deeply for your own. You wonder now, every single day, if you will die and go down as a lost cause like he did. When everything stops you can swear that you hear him singing, finally happy. “He deserves justice just like everybody else. And I’ve seen you hurt people before for a lot less.”

 

“You’re very high and mighty for someone who never told.” Silence. “I miss you, Terezi.” Silence.

 

You want everything you’ve ever thought you’ve ever had to spill from your mouth. I love you, Vriska, you’d say. I’ve missed you so much and I miss you every day of my life, you’d say. You’re glad you can’t look at her in the eyes. “I should go.” You’re going to go to Nepeta’s house, and you’re going to read more entries from Kurloz’s last weeks alive. 

 

You go outside without waiting for her response to find Sollux kicking rocks around in the dead garden. 

 

“This place fucking sucks. We never even got lunch,” he says, kicking one against the house.

 

You nod in agreement, and try to catch a whiff of the apple shampoo he uses. You want to forget how good strawberries smell.


	20. Untiitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I promised around chapter ten or something that there would be no more filler chapters... well... I lied. Anways look at this fan art I love it http://imgur.com/a/yIZx8 shout out to Trufflemeep

Your feet didn’t know where else to take you except for here. You walked Terezi home, but she didn’t invite you inside. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want to go home, though, so you walked and you walked and you kicked the rocks down the road and bought a Coke from the corner store. You walked some more until your feet brought you back to the Ampora house. The Coke tastes like cold sugar and syrup, but it’s nice when the sun’s beating down so hard. Today has become especially warm and sunny, unlike yesterday when industrial fumes filled the sky, and the clouds were lined with heavy metal. You don’t want to cry anymore, so the sky doesn’t either. You suppose that your feet lead you to the only place where you can escape your ghost skin and become real for a while.

 

He tells you not here when you knock on the door.

 

You tell him that you just want to talk. You tell him that you want to talk about the case.

 

He tells you that the case is stupid and he plays with his ring on his right fourth finger.

 

You ask him to humour you, just because you would like to talk for a while, and it might make Terezi happy if you talked about the case.

 

He says fuck you, but he comes outside anyways. You make a joke, but he doesn’t like it and he pretends that he doesn’t hear. 

 

The both of you sit at his little table in the backyard, uncomfortably distant. It shouldn’t be this unnatural, should it? Unless you fucked up more than you think you did. You had the impression that you didn’t really fuck up at all. “Well,” Eridan says impatiently, “Ask your stupid fuckin’ questions.”

 

“I guess I want to know more about the political ties that Makara had with-”

 

He interrupts, “No you don’t.” He’s got another one of his scarves today. It’s the middle of July but you already want it to cool off, and maybe for school to come back in session. You wouldn’t tell anybody, but school gives you something to put your mind to. When you’re doing math problems you can’t think about how fucked the rest of your life is.

 

“Yeah I do,” you assert. You don’t, exactly, but you don’t have an opposition to it. You want to talk, and the case seems to be the most sensible thing to talk about. “I totally fucking do.”

 

He snickers. “You don’t even fuckin’ care about this, do you? The whole Kurloz thing?”

 

Defensively, you say, “I think everyone should. He didn’t deserve to die. Fuck me for not being a narcissist.”

 

“Alright, alright, do you really want to know why Makara wasn’t a prick to Serket? It’s because they were havin’ sex and thought nobody knew about it. I only know ‘cause I heard my dad screamin’ about it on the phone one night. You can look into Meenah and Aranea all you want, Sol, but you’re just extending this into areas that it doesn’t need to fuckin’ go.” He gives a whole spiel without even looking at you. It’s just his rings, always his goddamn rings with him. Your mouth hangs open.

 

“You’re shitting me! You’re shitting me dude! You just want me to leave!” You respond. You don’t raise your voice, but you say it aggressively. There’s a part of you that wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but a part of you that hopes anything that happens between you and Eridan Ampora will stay strictly under the watch of the stars.

 

“Leave?” he asks with a grin, “Why would I ever want you to leave?”

 

You suppose he acknowledged it for you. “You said not here.”

 

“Well then, let’s go somewhere else,” he replies, “Just forget all your case bullshit and everythin’ else and let’s go somewhere fun for a while. C’mon, I told you all that you need to know.”

 

“There’s nothing to do in Skaia,” you say back. You wonder if he’s asking you on a date.

 

He replies, “I’m sure you and I could find something here. We could go to the woods if you aren’t scared.”

 

You mutter defensively, “I’m not scared of the woods.” You’re not more scared of the woods than you are of Eridan’s neatly mowed lawn or of the empty old Makara house on the hill. You’re not scared of him, either, because you decided that you wouldn’t be. You can let yourself be scared of sounds in your room and of the voices in your head, but you can’t let yourself be scared of the last time you remember being happy. “Let’s go then.”

 

“I was hopin’ you’d say that,” he responds. 

 

The walk from his house to the nearest entrance into the woods is short, but it’s quiet. He reaches for your hand once, but you pull it away. You try to make conversation a few times, but he is fairly unresponsive. You don’t like all of the waiting and the secrecy you and him have to work with, but you suppose it was just the deck that you were dealt.

 

When the two of you covered by the trees from the heat and from the rest of the world, you ask very quietly, “Why me?”

 

“Will you shut up with that dumb shit already? I had enough of it last night,” Eridan responds without looking at you. His response catches you completely off guard. “Can you show me where he died?”

 

“No, you have to tell me better than you did, or else I’m not showing you and I’m leaving now, you ass,” you say back. The sun shines through the tops of the leaves leaving dancing reflections on the ground. You can’t think of a more beautiful place to die at the moment. Not Paris or Rome or Shanghai, this is the most beautiful place in the world, and you want to fall in love here.

 

He sighs. “You know what? It fuckin’ beats me. Guess I just couldn’t help it. I wish I could tell you more, Sol.”

 

You can’t think of anything to say in response, so you take his hand and show him where Kurloz Makara died. There’s still a little bit of blood caked into the earth, and you point it out to him. “That’s where me and TZ found him.”

 

“That’s absolutely sick.”

 

“It was worse when the body was there, believe it or not.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, I mean it’s just eerie an’ shit. Some poor fuck died here.”

 

“I’ll say it again,” you say, frustrated, “it was a lot eerier staring at a dead body and empty eyes.” You couldn’t find a single thing in his eyes if you tried, just blood from popped veins and things you don’t like to think about. The soul part, the real part that makes a person a person, was all gone and haunting. You squeeze your eyes closed.

 

“You’ve said a prayer here, haven’t ya?” Eridan asks, pulling you out of your momentary trance.

 

“Shut up,” you respond. You don’t really believe that praying does anything, and that Kurloz’s soul, if it indeed persisted after death, is already set where it’s always going to be. Unless that’s not right, you guess, because a good Catholic friend your family once said would talk about Purgatory every now and again where you’d burn until you had finally burned enough to go to heaven. But just like hell, you don’t think that you can really believe in that. Even if a prayer was important, Nepeta Leijon already said one here. You remember it because you felt every word she said in your bones and behind your eyes.

 

He gets down on his knees by the bank of the creek and coaxes you to do the same. He doesn’t even care about getting his knees all muddy, so you don’t either. Even kneeling and praying to something you don’t believe in is better than being alone at this point. “We’re gonna say a fuckin’ prayer for him.” After a moment of silence he asks, “Can you start or do I gotta start?”

 

You shrug. Eridan’s already got his eyes and his hands all clasped so that he’s not touching you anymore. He can’t even see you. You could just leave him here praying for hours and he may not know that you left. But you wouldn’t do that. You don’t think that you could. “I don’t have anything to say. I don’t pray a lot.”

 

“Just try and say something, then. You and God are probably rusty.”

 

You take a very deep sigh. “Hey, God. How’s it, uh. How’s it going? I guess I’m sorry for all the homo shit if it really matters to-”

 

Eridan punches you in the arm so hard you swear you feel it out the other side. “Start again. Don’t fuck around.”

 

You mutter, “Right,” Then try starting again. “Alright, God, take two. It’s me, Sollux Captor, if you remember who I am. Long time since we last talked, man.”

 

“Don’t call God ‘Man’.”

 

“What am I supposed to call him?”

 

“Lord. Or Father if you want to be casual or somethin’.”

 

You tell him, exasperated, “Ampora, if you think I’m praying wrong or some mico-manager type shit, then please, why don’t you demonstrate.” A wave of water brushes onto the shore and hits your knees, receding as quickly as it came. You miss the snow that keeps you cold and your head buried. The summer makes you feel exposed and empty, like a tin can on the side of the road.

 

“Lord, we thank you for your mercy and your love. In your name we pray for the soul of Kurloz Makara who died here, and that he may find a place in your heavenly kingdom. We ask that his killer find his place with you, Lord, and confesses to his sins. We thank you for-”

 

“Prayer is bullshit,” you say under your breath. Eridan’s normally so lively, but when he prays he just looks like a robot. You’ve known plenty of religious people that you’ve liked, but you’ve met plenty that just talk like they’re scared or they’re better than you most of the time.

 

He stops, pretends he doesn’t hear you, and keeps talking. He keeps praising God like anything the two of you do might matter for Kurloz, or for one another. But you close your eyes and say Amen when he’s done, if not for him, for that part of you that really does believe in something better. You try not to be a nihilist, you really do.

 

‘Dear God’, you’d say, if you were religious and knew what that meant, you’d tell him ‘I’m sorry for anything I did that may have pissed you off, but if you wouldn’t mind, Lord, or Father, or man, maybe it wouldn’t be too much just this once,’ you’d say, ‘to let it slide and let me be happy for just a little while.” You’d tack on at the end, ‘If heaven is real, I hope Kurloz is there, and I hope you’re treating him okay.’ And you’d say Amen louder than you ever do when you pray with your family or when you don’t ditch church. There are lots of prayers you know about, like grace at mealtimes, the doxology, and the lord’s prayer. But you’d call yours Untitled, and you’d whisper it every night until you had the means to yell.

You mess around in the woods with Eridan until you forget how much you hate him and you hate yourself. If he could just hear all horrible words on your lips that you forget when you kiss him, you think even God couldn’t judge you for falling in love.

Eridan never even asked you to finish your prayer for Kurloz.


	21. TH3 L4ST ON3 ON 34RTH

Aradia’s hollow voice could echo for miles if you let it. There’s no sadness to weigh it down, nor is there happiness to pick it too high off the ground. It just floats there. “Hello?” She asks through the phone. She probably doesn’t know your number by heart like she used to.

 

You figure that formalities aren’t going to do anything for anybody here. You want to keep the call short, and she despises small talk. She always did. “You speak Latin, right Aradia?”

 

“I’ve studied it, yes. No one speaks it though, not really. It’s a dead language, Terezi.”

 

“Yeah, anyways,” you say, “could you translate something for me?”

 

She sighs. “I could try.”

 

“Should I start now?”

 

“Yeah, whenever you’re ready.” The thing about Aradia is there’s no impatience in her tone, like her words might indicate. It’s as if she has nowhere else to be, she just knows that she doesn’t want to be here.

 

“Dabit deus his quoque finem,” you breathe, just barely, into the phone. You say the words like they’re all forbidden. A dead language for a dead boys and dying girls.

 

She responds, nearly immediately, “That’s Virgil, Terezi. God will also put an end to these things.”

 

“Who’s Virgil?” You ask at the risk of looking stupid. You suppose that looking stupid shouldn’t really matter to Aradia. You don’t recognize that as a book in the Bible, as you expected.

 

“A Roman poet. That bit’s from the Aeneid.”

 

You mutter, “It sounds like a sad line, doesn’t it?”

 

“No, not at all,” she says curtly. You hear a click, indicating that the conversation is over.

 

God will also put an end to these things, you decide, can’t be in any way optimistic, for the story of Kurloz Makara ended so quickly with his own untimely demise. You suppose the key to understanding would be to read the Aeneid, but you hardly have time for that! You resolve to head over to Nepeta’s and make more progress on the journal, if she’s up for it. In your mind, it just can’t wait. You dial her number and ask for her to pick you up.

 

She walks to your house, and walks you back to hers. You make small talk about how to clouds are looking and how it got so muggy all of a sudden. The crook of her arm is more personable than that of Sollux Captor, and you decide, once and for all, that you must know what it’s like to kiss Nepeta Leijon. You must do it at least once, or else the thought will never leave you. You lost your chance to kiss Vriska Serket; you don’t think she’ll ever work her way out of your mind. You hear her, smell her, and swear to God on some nights that you really can see her. Her skin is red like fire and her lips are blue like home. You listen to Nepeta talk, and you wonder what green must taste like on your lost grey lips. Sweet, you imagine. Sweet and kind. She could breathe every color into you.

 

You don’t bring the thought up to her immediately, though. Business comes first. You pull out the journal and ask her if she can find the place where the two of you left off, as you had forgotten to bookmark it.

 

“I learned what the Latin means,” you say gingerly.

 

“Enlighten me,” she purrs. Literally, she’s playful and cat-like.

 

You recite, careful to enunciate each word like Aradia did, “God will also put an end to these things. It’s from Virgil or something.” You add as an afterthought, “It made me a bit sad, but I was told that it shouldn’t be sad at all. I think I misunderstood it.”

 

Nepeta is pensive for a moment. “Purrhaps Kurloz was an optimist. Maybe he didn’t think that he would die, but that his suffering would stop.” She pauses. “It did stop. I guess. But it’s a pawfully sad way to find peace.”

 

You say quietly, “I wish he could have found it in another way. I didn’t know him, but it doesn’t seem just to me, Nepeta.”

 

“Nepeta pawsitively reminds her sleuthiness that she can still help Kurloz by cracking this case wide open!”

 

“You’re sweet,” you say with a smile, “Tell me, what date did we leave off at?”

 

“June 20th. The next is June 22nd.”

 

“Alright,” you say nodding, “let’s start with the 22nd entry.”

 

“June 22nd, 1964. It has been a while since I’ve seen anyone of interest. It’s been a week since I last saw Meulin, and my house has been, for all intents and purposes, empty. My father spends days and nights away, and Gamzee is a ghost. When I have bothered to converse with him, he is incoherent. I do fear for him, and for the salvation of his soul when his time should come. When I have left the house, I saw once the likeness of Horuss Zahhak, but he avoided my gaze, as did Sollux Captor. I see no reason as to why he should have looked, because we have not had nor do we have any reason to be in contact, but an inexplicable urge to visit with Mituna Captor has overcome me. In order to seek refuge from my relative isolation, I plan to see him tomorrow. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

“That was shorter than the others,” you remark, lazily. There’s nothing extremely shocking there, except you wonder a bit more about Gamzee. You didn’t think about it before, but his tendency of actually going to school in the last few weeks really tapered away, then left all together. And you think, very briefly, about why people kill and kiss and skip school for a thrill and some cheap laughs. You wonder about the ghosts that must stick around, if for nothing else, all for the fun of watching people cry and dance and laugh. Her lips could spell so many words on yours, words that you never knew existed, and words that could move and shine in technicolor. “Would you go on to the next one? When is that?”

 

You hear her turn the page dutifully. “Should I start?”

 

“Yeah, whenever.”

 

She clears her throat. “June 24th, 1964. It was a lovely day out yesterday, today has since been cloudy and dreary. I’ve gone to see Meulin, who is currently working out in the garden. Her patio is a pleasant enough place to waste a waning evening.”

 

“He wrote this here,” you interrupt. You can’t help it. You think of Kurloz Makara, sitting here alive and in the flesh, just writing under a dreary grey sky, watching his girlfriend work in the garden. “I’m sorry, please go on.”

 

“Right. My meeting with Mituna Captor was very brief, yesterday. So brief, in fact, that recording it slipped my mind until this moment, where I was suddenly overcome with the urge to write about it. It is, to say the least, uncanny. I saw him in his home when Sollux and his mother were out, and his father showed me inside. Mituna recognized me, but I hardly think that he could put any emotion or memory to my face, let alone know that I saved his life. It has always struck me as strange, in this past year, that people always ask how the Captor family is doing, but they never ask how Mituna is doing. So I asked him yesterday how he was. He shouted ‘great’ and he coughed. He whispered ‘alone’ and then he told me to leave. He laughed at something as I went. It was a very strange encounter that I hated, yet I wish I stayed by him a little bit longer. It was not a visit out of pity, nor was it a visit to put my conscience at ease. These days, it seems that Meulin can barely manage that. But I retain my faith. Dabit deus his quoque finem.” Nepeta asks, “That’s a little sad, don’t you think? He was purrplexing.”

 

“Yes,” you agree, but not really. It was sad, but you’re not especially purplexed. The thing about Kurloz, is you think that he felt like he never belonged. Sad and grey like upside down summer skies. You want to know him, and you wish that he could hear you say his name, just once. “When’s the next one?”

 

“The 25th,” she says hesitantly, “Should I start meow?”

 

You just nod. She should know by now to start, and you are annoyed now. You shouldn’t be annoyed but you are.

 

“My mom used to make little cakes when Gamzee and I were very small, and before she died. Gamzee told me this morning that he didn’t remember that, and I shouldn’t have expected it of him. I didn’t really expect it; it was just a passing thought. I didn’t leave the house today. Dabit deus his quoque finem.” She asks smoothly, “Next one?”

 

That entry didn’t seem to affect her a lot. In retrospect, it’s not extremely important to the case. You’re glad it’s there, though. You wonder what kind of cake is his favorite, because you like chocolate and Sollux likes Vanilla. He jokes sometimes that the two of you should cook a marble cake, but you’d always just end up having one or the other. It’s not like you hate vanilla or anything. “Yeah, please.”

 

“June 26th, 1964. Today I had a meeting with Latula Pyrope, purely by chance. I was buying bread, and she was buying milk. Then she thought to say hello to me. For the first time in a long while, I thought about saying hello back. I wonder what my voice might sound like if I were to speak again. I nodded at her. She asked me if I had seen Mituna recently, and I shook my head no. I had, nor do I have, any withstanding obligation to tell the truth to Latula Pyrope about the painful and insignificant details of my life. I had, at that point however, the overwhelming urge to tell her that I saved his life, but I didn’t. I ought to phone her up and tell her, one of these coming days. Maybe because she goes out of her way to smile at me tells me that, subconsciously, she must know. But if she did know, hypothetically, would she thank me, or would she berate me, like I have done to myself? Certainly, there was a part of Mituna that nobody could have saved when I found him. Of course, I am very unsure as to why Mituna was outside so late so close to the woods. Nothing good ever happens in the woods past nightfall. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

You say in frustration, “These entries aren’t doing us any good. They’re just… they’re just making me sad.” You remember when Latula went out to get milk; there was none left for breakfast after your father tried to make a cake. Those details don’t mean anything to the case though! You try very hard to push them from your mind, but Kurloz with his loaf of bread lingers.

 

“I dunno,” says Nepeta, “you have to look closely. Like the the end here, when he talked about the woods? It meant that he must have had a good reason fur being there on the day he died. If we find that reason, we could pawssibly pinpoint the killer.” She adds quickly, “We could stop fur now, if you want though.”

 

God, that’s smart of her. You respond, “No, not yet. If you put it that way, we have to read even deeper to find out why he went into the woods. I’m up for a few more. We have, what, ten more at the most? When’s the next one?”

 

“He skips anothfur day. June 28th, 1964. When I am alone for a while, I feel like I’m the last person on earth. I don’t know if the feeling is terrifying or exhilarating. When my father comes home and when Gamzee spends nights here, it’s hard to feel anything from pretending we’re an actual family. Meulin and her family is the closest that I ever get to that, but even then I can’t help but feel like an outsider. When I walk at night to clear my head, no one visible for a mile or so around, all the lights off in the houses, I pretend that no one’s home anywhere, and that it’s only me. If I went home, my father wouldn’t be there to talk at me and try to prey with me, even though he’s the devil, and Gamzee wouldn’t be there to stare and recite nonsense incantations. Mituna would be somewhere else, somewhere happier. Aranea, and Latula, and all the people that were nice to me, even Cronus Ampora, might be somewhere better, and I could have the earth to myself. I think that’s when I might speak again; all alone, knowing that anyone else is anywhere better. That is the only time that my words could do anything holy. Dabit deus his quoque finem. Dabit deus his quoque finem. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

You say, without thinking, “Do you think that he went for a walk the night he died, just trying to clear his head and pretend no one else was around him? Do you think he did that the night he found Mituna?”

 

Nepeta sighs, “I bet he did, at least when he found Mituna. He used to do that sometimes when he was here, just leave on his own. I never understood him. I think it would be furry scary and a little sad to be the last one on earth. I don’t know how he could’ve wanted that.”

 

You understand him, at least a little, because you feel the best when you’re dancing all alone in your room. You feel the best when you imagine the stars kissing your face and your arms and down your legs. “I’d stay with you, if you needed me to.” You think about how even if it was just you and Nepeta, the last people on earth, you might get bored. Maybe a little scared, too.

 

“That’s sweet,” she replies, “Are we done for today?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” As you get up, you push the next sentence out of your mouth, because it simply needs to be said. “Would it offend you if I kissed you?”

 

Clearly taken aback, she says, “No, I don’t think I’d be offended! You could always try, if you wanted. Nepeta invites Terezi to-”

 

You interrupt her with a kiss. It’s short and sweet, all close-mouthed and proper, but you still feel it. You feel the idea of it, and you feel every single color that makes up her lips dance onto yours, bringing you to life and making the world hold still. The last people on earth, not just friends, not in love, just together.

You leave more free than you came, journal under your arm instead of tucked in your skirt. It may as well have been clouds and moonbeams that kissed you, because you’re lit up inside all the same.


	22. Tell Me Agaiin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for procrastinating these updates so badly ap calc is kicking my ass more than I anticipated

The day after you tried praying at the river, Terezi called you up and said that the two of you just had to go to the Makara house, just to see, so you finally said you would. The place scares you, but you thought that you might as well be brave for this case that you don’t really even have a stake in anymore. The day that your fearlessness and tenacity matches that of Terezi is the day that might truly, for once, consider yourself to be a good enough person. Even though it may never come to you like it does so easily to her, on the days that you can try, you do.

 

You notice how much hotter it’s been getting; maybe today’s the peak. You hope it is, because you’re sweating out of your polo. Even Terezi, who you swear is cold blooded, has a few beads of sweat resting on her face and back. You hope that by some miracle Gamzee Makara is half as hospitable as your other suspects have been. You’re still shaky about the idea of Kurloz’s own family even being suspects, but Terezi said you need to go there so you do and it’s decided.

 

There’s a lazy perfection in summer days like these- half-painted blue skies and no one left to impress. You don’t need to say a prayer, but if you did, someone might be there to listen behind the clouds or wherever God is. Or maybe he wouldn’t listen, because it’s too warm and he’d have somewhere better to be. You relish in your relative anonymity, thinking fondly about the days that just fall away like this one surely will. It comforts you rather than terrifies you, as it ought. You feel an upswing coming on, like you can feel those things sometimes. You can feel the times that you’re going to cry and hate yourself, like after the first time Eridan kissed you, and you can feel the times that you think you can do anything. Maybe it’s one of those times, but maybe it’s just the weather. You take a deep breath and try to let it pass.

 

“When’s the last you talked to Gamzee?” You ask Terezi. You and Gamzee weren’t ever anything, friends or otherwise, but he talked to Terezi once in a while. You never had anything against the guy- you still don’t- but Terezi never took on that pity sort of liking that a lot of your peers seemed to do for him. Pity never really was your style, and it sure as hell isn’t Terezi’s. She hates watching people waste away, so she just calls them stupid for it. Stupid for turning to drugs, stupid for still believing in fairies, and maybe stupid for loving Vriska Serket. You guess that it’s all the same to her.

 

She sighs, “Last day of school. I told him to fuck off and have a good summer. He said something nice and corny back, but I don’t remember.”

 

You think, a bit guiltily, that you didn’t even tell Gamzee to have a good summer. You probably didn’t even notice that he showed up on the last day, big hair, doey eyes and all. You noticed Feferi more, because she looked very beautiful in the grey and blue sundress she wore. Now that you think of it, Eridan wore a scarf and said “fuck off” to you when you said hello. You wish, for some reason, that you would’ve said goodbye to Kurloz. You even remember seeing him at the store at one point in June; you wish you just would have said a word to him. “More than I said to him.”

 

“Eh,” she says shrugging, “You two aren’t close or anything. He didn’t say anything to you.”

 

You laugh, “Sometimes he calls me ‘Solbro’ if that counts for anything.” The two of you stop, arm in arm, as you get to the bottom of the hill.

 

The Makara house had always looked foreboding to you, but now it doesn’t look anything but sad. Four people lived there when you were born, a happy family, and now there’s two. One’s never sober and one’s just a drifter. Eridan says that Makara’s fucking Serket, and they all say such proud things about the soldiers even though they’ve never gone to war. You remember how he shot you that look that made you sink, because he knew it wasn’t a suicide, but how there was something that made him want to bury Kurloz and forget about it. Who wants to forget like that? Your parents didn’t let the police drop Mituna’s case for months. When he was in the coma, you thought he was asleep for good, you didn’t touch a single thing in his room. You didn’t trust yourself enough to move it and put it back just in the right way. Among the details- the grey paint, the high arching roof, the stone bed when a garden should be- only the open window particularly sticks out to you. You should think it, like everything else about the Makaras, to be closed, but it’s not. It’s open and the curtains dance ever so slightly in the breeze. You jump back upon seeing Gamzee’s face through it.

 

“Is the window open?” Terezi asks, freaking you out. It’s uncanny how she senses things like that.

 

“Yeah,” you reply, arm still tucked tightly in hers.

 

She calls without hesitation, “Gamzee!”

 

“He turned his head,” you tell her. He doesn’t say anything yet, but he sees the two of you. Gamzee Makara has always made you feel uneasy.

 

Terezi clears her throat. “Do you want to come outside and talk to us a little bit?”

 

Gamzee shouts back, “Is it nice outside?”

 

“Uh… yeah,” you reply. You wonder why he couldn’t just stick his head out the window and figure it out for himself. “It’s hot,” you call.

 

“That’s fucking miraculous,” he says. Gamzee climbs through the window to meet you and Terezi by his curb. Instead of inviting you two somewhere else where there might be adequate seating, he just sits himself down by the side of the road and beckons the two of you to do the same. You didn’t really want to walk up the hill and get near his house anyways; you don’t want to be close enough to see inside. Terezi thinks there’s ghosts in the woods, or in the quiet places where people die, but you think ghosts are in places like houses, or maybe churches and schools, where they could see people. If ghosts existed, they’d exist to watch people and sneak inside them, sneak inside their heads and turn them upside down.

 

Gamzee’s happy, like he always is. He’s got a dopey smile and uncombed hair. He’s probably stoned with something and you can’t find it anywhere in yourself to blame him. Terezi would, though. So you’re the first to ask something. “Hey, Gamzee, are you doing okay? You know… all things considered.” You hope he knows that your question isn’t an empty ‘sorry for your loss’ kind of thing- you’ve been through that and know that their prying eyes and expensive gifts feel like spiders and flies down your shirt.

 

“I’m doing great, Solbro, considering all motherfucking things.” He stretches his hands into the sky and leans back. Solbro. How absolutely peculiar and off-putting.

 

“Are you… um… considering your brother’s murder among those considered things?” God, Terezi wouldn’t know how to be delicate if it hit her in the face.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Gamzee replies, his smile fading a bit, “that was wicked sad. But you can’t just go around being all sad every day, like what Kurly did. He needed to brighten the motherfuck up!” He laughs, just slightly, “He was so serious all the time!”

 

You want to laugh a little, too, so you think what you felt before was the beginning of an upswing. There’s times when you feel hopeless and heavy, then there’s times like the last month or so where you feel a little lost and a little apathetic. Then there’s times- the times you know you have to be a little careful- where you feel like you can do absolutely anything. You do your best to keep your composure, and ask Gamzee, “What do you think made him so serious?”

 

He closes his eyes in thought. “Religion. He never accepted any of the Mirthful Messiahs, so he was fucked up all the time. Motherfucking fucked up if you ask me.”

 

Terezi asks, nearly immediately, “How often did you talk to him about the… em… Mirthful Messiahs?”

 

“Every time I saw him, Terecita”

 

“Terezi,” she corrects immediately. If you can put up with ‘Solbro’ she most certainly could stomach ‘Terecita’. 

 

“Every time I motherfucking saw him,” Gamzee repeats.

 

“Do you know where Kurloz went the night he was gone?” Terezi asks. She just continues, continues, always continues! She doesn’t even notice the sky and the birds, you think, how you just saw one of those red birds that are special around here.

 

Gamzee says simply, “Gone.”

 

Terezi raises her eyebrows, “And where were you?”

 

A half-smile curls onto Gamzee’s face. “Just sleepin’. Dreamin’. I’m always dreamin’, Terecita.”

 

“Dreaming about what?” you ask against your better judgement.

 

“I dream about flying away, Solbro. I dream in the most miraculous motherfucking colors, too.”

 

“‘S a shame you’ve gotta wake up then, isn’t it?” you say. You dream of flying, too. You dream of flying when you’re awake and you’re asleep.

 

“So you were home when Kurloz died?” Terezi says more than she really asks him. You think that she’d make a great lawyer or something someday, just like her mom.

 

“Mhmm,” Gamzee hums, looking towards the sky. “You were right, it’s a beautiful day. Motherfucking hot, though. But it’s real nice to get out of the house once in a while.” 

 

“When’s the last time you left the house?” You ask.

 

“Sunday,” Gamzee says dreamily. That’s Gamzee, always dreaming, always sedated and diluted.

 

“And when was the last day your dad was home?” Terezi adds. You don’t understand why that’s important, but it looks like Terezi does.

 

“Sunday!” says Gamzee again, like it’s not important and not even sad. It’s just a word to him, like everything must turn into just words sooner or later. Before that happens, you decide in an instant, you have to do something crazy and something that will make you feel alive. Gamzee doesn’t notice the silence and keeps speaking. “I’ve done enough talking here. You motherfuckers tell me what you dream about.”

 

Terezi, closed mouthed and taken aback, says a single word. “Stars,” she says, like it’s a boring thing to think about. You wonder what stars might seem like to a blind person, if anything but distant nonsense.

 

What do you even dream about, really? Old memories and buying plane tickets? Making out with a guy you sort of hate sort of like in the woods? Being alone, or maybe not feeling so alone anymore? Or do you dream always like you’re dreaming now, of colors and beauty, and of filling all of the dark matter the floats and dies in between people? “Being happy,” you state decisively. You forget each day what it meant to you the day before, but each day you dream that someday you’ll be perfectly and undeniably content.

 

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Gamzee says. He picks some of the grass from his yard and throws in down in the same place. It’s aimless and lazy like the way the sky is painted. “Tell me again.”

 

“Again?” you ask. You barely said two words.

 

“It was nice talking with you, Gamzee,” Terezi says. She pulls you up, and hooks her arm back into yours. Gamzee waves goodbye, and the two of you just leave him there, picking up blades of grass and staring at the sky.

 

“He’s crazy,” Terezi says when you can’t see Gamzee anymore.

 

“Crazy and harmless, TZ,” you correct. In fact, you’re hesitant to even call Gamzee crazy. Even fucked up on drugs, he was surprisingly coherent. 

 

After a few moments of silent, aimless walking, Terezi asks, “What does being happy even look like?”

 

“It’s being alone without being lonely. Like walking with a good friend through the woods on a Sunday morning.” It’s like running away to south America with the love of your life. You ask in turn, “What do you think the stars look like?”

 

You see her thinking, visibly conflicted. About what, you couldn’t say. “I imagine they look a bit like life would, burning and beautiful, gone as fast as they come.

The world, you think, is so gorgeous, and you think that you can do absolutely anything. “Yeah,” you say, “that’s exactly right.”


	23. R3D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took two weeks but on the bright side now the title might make a little more sense (it took me 23 chapters to have a title that made sense, great writing at its peak)

You feel something. It’s like helium has seeped into your bones and lifted you up, and it’s like each touch to your skin is a pinprick. You could float away if you weren’t so ready to burst. You are a balloon, you are weightless, but you are not happy. It’s something, though, so it may very well be a start. Someone might understand, but you don’t think you’d like to have to sit down and explain it to everybody. You take what you know is a bible from the side of your pew. You laugh, “Sollux, have you ever actually read this thing?” You don’t know where Kanaya and Rose are, or even where they were supposed to meet you, but it was cool out and the back doors of the church were unlocked so you and Sollux went inside. It’s colder inside.

 

Sollux takes you by surprise. “Yeah. It’s a good read. Most of it’s bullshit, of course, but it was still worth it.”

 

“That feels kind of dirty to hear in a church,” you remark. If He’s up there and watching, calling the Bible bullshit in his sacred area probably isn’t something he really wants to hear. 

 

“Eh,” Sollux says nonchalantly, “You should read it someday. Or get some kind hearted bastard to read it to you. Then you and me can have intellectual discussions about it or whatever, decide to what degree this thing sucks or not.”

 

“I thought the whole point of religion is you can’t know what’s shit or not until you die.”

 

“Touche,” Sollux says, knowing when you’ve got him beat. He doesn’t sound fully convinced, but you let him be. He is the kind of person that wants to prove or disprove the existence of things like God and true love, and you’ve got to just let him think that he can for a while. Who knows? Someday, he may get closer than any of you to touching the sky and leaving this place for good. If anyone would, it would be him. You just hope he doesn’t leave you completely behind when he does.

 

“We were looking for you two!” Rose calls from the back of the sanctuary. You can’t see her, but you whip your head around to the direction of her voice. “Christ, it’s like the arctic tundra in here.”

 

Sollux says, “Yeah, but the seats are better. Closer to the Big Man and all.”

 

Kanaya laughs dryly.

 

“So what’s the whole ‘big discovery’ the two of you made anyways?” you ask. You kind of want to leave, you kind of never want to leave. You’re too filled with helium, and you can’t decide where you want to go. Your string is tied to the pews.

 

“I believe that it’s really going to change the direction of the investigation. It’s truly a, ehem, ‘game changer’.” Kanaya explains. The way that she says game changer just kills you. Although she always acts like she’s got something to prove, she does it in a way that’s so unapologetically Kanaya.

 

Sollux puts his arm in yours again, and coaxes you to stand up. You follow Rose and Kanaya back out into the cool evening air, warmer than the church. All the people packed inside usually keep it warm enough. Churches are much sadder when one is there alone.

 

“It’s by the side of the building,” Rose announces, “just around here where everything’s pretty covered up.” After a moment or two of scanning, Rose exclaims, “Oh, here!”

 

“Holy fuck,” Sollux breathes. He lets go of your arm, making you feel scared and exposed once again. There’s nothing left to anchor you down.

 

Instead of floating away, you say, “Describe it, Appleberry Asshole.”

 

“Blood,” he says a little exasperated, “Dry caked blood on the side of a goddamn church.”

 

“D’you think that’s Kurloz’s b-”

 

You’re interrupted by the sound of Kanaya rooting around in the bushes. “Sollux, I found this closer to the wall, but I hid it in here so no one would get to it. Here.” After a moment she adds, “It’s a pocket knife, Terezi.”

 

“That was good thinking Kanaya,” you say, grateful to be included.

 

“Shit,” Sollux mutters.

 

Rose asks, “Pardon?”

 

“Shit, shit, shit! Fucking shit! See this engraving on the side here? In the purple? CA. Cronus Ampora- Jesus Christ! I knew he was being shady as all fuck about this but-”

 

“Calm down!” You say, taking the knife into your hands. You’re careful not to slice open your fingers and mix your blood with whatever is on the knife. “This is all circumstantial. Maybe it happened on two different days or something. This place isn’t even close to the woods, Sollux. Besides, do you think even Cronus Ampora is enough of a dumbass to leave a knife with his initials on it near the crime scene? How do we even know CA is Cronus Ampora?” You’re not so sure about what you’re saying, though. From Kurloz’s diary, you knew that there was a lot of animosity between the two of them, for whatever underlying reasons. But you also know that Cronus was a little scared of Kurloz. The pieces are there, but none of it really seems to come together. Your mind instantly jumps back to the journal, hidden safely under your bed, and how badly you need to finish it with Nepeta tomorrow. You absolutely have to.

 

“No, no,” he insists, “ if anyone would be dumb enough, it would be Cronus. I know this thing is his, just trust me on this one.” You touch Sollux’s arm and feel him shaking a little. It scares the hell out of you, because you never know what he’ll do when he’s worked up. In your experience, however, it passes more easily and quickly than when he’s sad. You don’t like to have to watch him go through it either way. “I’m going over there right now-”

 

“Tomorrow,” you tell him. “It’ll give you time to get your head on straight, Sollux.”

 

“She’s right, Sollux,” You hear Rose say.

 

“I’ll walk with you home, if you want,” Kanaya says to him. She truly is lovely, you think.

 

After a moment or so, he agrees hesitantly. You sit with Rose for a moment in the dark by the church, hearing the sound of their footsteps fade away until they’re not even there. You keep running the blade of your knife in between your fingers, not quite hard enough to make a cut, but hard enough to feel it. When he’s gone, you say, “You know Rose, I just don’t think that he did it. There wasn’t any reason for him to do it, but I mean, that’s the thing. There doesn’t seem to be any reason that anybody would have done it. Maybe someone just sliced him up all for the fun of it, you know? And maybe that’s why all of us are here anyways, sitting around and going to church and solving murders. All for the goddamn fun of it.” You feel everything tying you to the ground all at once. If you could, you’d float away right now and never look back. You’d leave everybody behind and everything you’ve started unfinished.

 

She takes only a moment to respond, but it seems like a lifetime to you. “It’s interesting to entertain the idea that we may not be here for much more than to merely survive. I think at times it’s also very tempting to think that there’s nothing for us at the end except for the sum of our actions behind us. I just can’t think that’s all there is, though. I’m certain that there’s something else to it.”

 

You feel something, once again. It’s your heartbeat, quick and alive. You are cold, but your insides are warm. You breathe out wishing it was colder so that your breath could look like smoke. There’s everybody and everything to think about at once, but you decide not to. You think only of grey; you think about how the universe is painted grey. There are just people, far and in between, painted green and blue and yellow and oh so red. You think of how someone’s words, or their touch, could splatter you with every beautiful color to exist, only to let most of it wash off in the rain. If we all were here only for the fun of it all, for colors and beauty to soak into us then dry out, perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible. In fact, that may be the best sort of meaning that it all could have. “Yeah,” you respond to Rose half-heartedly, “I guess we’ll find out eventually.”

 

“Who’s back there?” A cautious voice calls. You know it to be Karkat Vantas, the preacher’s son.

 

Rose calls back, “It’s Terezi and me, Rose Lalonde.”

 

You hear him round the corner. “What’s going on back there? You two don’t have any drugs or some shit do you?” You’ve always found Karkat’s temper and potty mouth to be both hilarious and ironic.

 

“No, we’re just-”

 

“Investigating?” He asks.

 

You say, “How did you know about that?” News spreads through a small town like it has wings.

 

He sits down next to you. “Tavros Nitram. Said you and Dave Asshole Strider came to question him or something. Christ man, why would you want to question Tavros Nitram? It’s not like he could even kill a damn bug. You know he honest to God cried one time when me and Captor found this dead chipmunk with him?”

 

“He wasn’t a suspect or anything,” you respond, kind of annoyed that he’s grilling you before knowing the whole story, “I just went with Dave to confirm something with Rufio, then Dave went a shook him up about something.” You do recall Dave mentioning that his bloody knuckles and shaky alibi added up to something suspicious, but you’re set on letting that go. “I don’t know what he said to him.”

 

“Did you need something, Karkat?” Rose asks calmly.

 

“My dad wanted me to pick up some books or something that he left in the church. I don’t fucking know, he just said pick up the red bin.” He pauses. “If you two are done here and everything, I can walk you home Terezi.” It’s not really a dig at Rose or anything, you two just live so close, and you wouldn’t want Rose to go out of her way. Karkat’s nice to talk to, anyways.

 

“Yeah, thanks Karkles. You can head home if you want now, Rose.”

 

You exchange a few short goodbyes, and then listen to her footsteps fade away. Rose will be very important someday, with all of her fancy words and smoke clouds. You just know it.

 

Karkat takes your arm a little bit like Sollux does, but he does it more lightly. He’s afraid to be too rough, but he doesn’t know that you can handle it. In fact, you think you need someone to hold you down.

 

“Is that a knife?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Give it to me, it’s not safe.”

 

“No, it’s mine.”

 

“No it’s absolutely fucking not, I know you don’t have knives. Nice try.”

 

“It’s for the case. But now it’s mine.” You think about the rusty knife from the crime scene, yet another vital piece of evidence. You hate arguing with Karkat, because he thinks he has to protect everybody. 

 

As the two of you enter the church, he says, “You know this is all really dangerous, right? Getting involved in goddamn murders left and right like some kind of murder mystery prostitute.”

 

“Way to put it poetically.”

 

“No, no, I’m serious. I mean, that’s your choice, but just know that you could get yourself fucked up dealing in shady shit like murders. You know how his dad is, and well. Ah, wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.” He leaves you alone in the sanctuary for a bit, presumably to look for the red bin.

 

You sit at the end of the nearest pew, content for a moment to be alone. The knife is shitty and dull. It’s probably not excessively important, contrary to Sollux’s belief. You and Sollux and everyone else, all shuffling around, all crying and loving, all for the fun of it. You sigh, and nearly start to laugh. You don’t laugh, though, because if you did you’d totally lose it and float away.

 

Karkat comes back just in time to keep you sane. “Alright, I’m back Terezi. I mean as I was saying, with Makara and shit, you never really know-”

 

“Do you know anything about Makara, or are you just going to yell at me?”

 

He helps you up from the pew, but the two of you stand for a moment. “I mean, a little bit, yeah. You remember when I used to be friends with Gamzee? Before my dad kind of thought he was having a bad influence on me and all? Which he wasn’t, I mean, I knew all that shit he did with drugs was bad, but it’s my dad. Well, Makara was always absolute shit to Gamzee about it, saying he’d go to hell and all that. He was a little better to Kurloz, but I knew Kurloz resented the hell out of him for it. Gamzee told me that Kurloz thought their dad was the devil, like literal Satan come down to haunt them. Gamzee always was a little more forgiving, but it was sorry as hell to look at. The guy was barely home, I mean, it’s a miracle they didn’t turn out any fucking worse, you know? Sorry Terezi, I just don’t want you sucked into that shitstorm.”

 

“I’m not delicate,” you insist. You see in Karkat the same seventh grader that was head over heels in love with you, and how sometimes he still wants to be your knight in shining armor. No one’s ever been able to save you but yourself. It’s not his place. “Do you even know what’s in the bin?”

 

“Books, I thought,” he says, a bit bewildered, “but it’s too light for books.”

 

“Let’s look inside, then.”

 

“Fuck no! This is my dad’s stuff, Terezi.” God, what a goody two shoes.

 

“It’s not gonna hurt anybody,” you say.

 

With a sigh, he concedes. “Fine, one look. A short one.” You hear him crack open the top of the bin.

 

“So?”

 

He laughs, “Photographs and stuff.”

 

“Of your family?”

 

He sits down on the floor, so you follow his lead. “Let’s look- oh! No these are like… photos of people at the church since my dad has been here. I think, at least. They all have writing all over them and stuff. It’s kind of sweet.”

 

A smile creeps onto your face, “Can you describe a few for me?”

 

After a moment, he says, “Yeah, yeah I can. This one’s pretty recent. It’s Rufioh and and Horuss Zahhak sitting on the front steps of the church. Tavros is kind of messing around in the background.” He hands it to you, and shuffles through a few of them until he knows the people. “This next one’s Kanaya and her family- she looks like she’s five years old in this pic. She’s wearing this gingham dress and everything. And her mom’s got this giant hat on even though it’s cloudy. Oh- God- then there’s this one. The whole Makara family when they first moved in.”

 

“Can I have that one?” You ask. You have no idea why you’d even want it.

 

“No, I mean, I have to give these to my dad. But man, Terezi, their mom was beautiful. It’s a little… heartbreaking. I guess all old photographs can be in a way. Even the happy ones. This one of you and Latula is nice, but you’re not looking at the camera. And Sollux with Aradia… shit. These are fucking great.”

You don’t know how long the two of you spend going through old photos in the church, but you don’t care. Sometimes, it’s very lovely to do something because it has no reason at all. Those are the moments, you’re now convinced, that life is really all about.


	24. Fool Me Twiice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a good alt title for this fic would be "Terezi why did you even bring sollux along he's just fucking everything up continuously"

Cooling down doesn’t work sometimes and you are absolutely livid. You tried counting sheep, but you stayed up almost the whole night, crashing as you saw the sun on the horizon. When you want to be still, sometimes your brain just keeps going, and when you want to move it stays stagnant. You’re stuck in an agonizing limbo; you don’t know what keeps you going. It’s not hatred, because you don’t know anyone that you hate hate hate for real, except maybe yourself. It’s not love, because you don’t think you ever quite learned how to love, never learned for real. It’s something else that keeps you moving when your brain wants you to stop and rest. Maybe it’s a higher power, maybe it’s sheer human willpower. You don’t care.

 

Terezi and Rose and Kanaya said you had to wait to go visit the Amporas. They said think it through, but you’ve slept a few hours on it and you still think something needs to be done. You need to bash Eridan’s head in and get a story out of him. You want to kiss him. You want to fuck him. You want to kill him for lying or for being an idiot. You want to stab his psycho brother with his own pocket knife. You don’t know what you want except to scream for a very long time and maybe rip yourself apart. It’s too late for that, everyone is awake now and they would certainly hear you. You don’t want to let anyone inside; you don’t want them to know a thing about you.

 

You sit out on your curb with a cream soda, shaking slightly and trying to watch the clouds move. Wouldn’t today be such a nice day to give Aradia a call? It’s such a nice day, you could ask her if she’d want to go out and get something to eat, or get lost outside like the two of you used to. It’s a beautiful clear day for flying, for taking a plane down to Machu Picchu and never coming back. It’s a day for learning Spanish on the fly and forgetting every other obligation the two of you have ever had. It’s alarming how easily you could forget about Eridan Ampora if it came down to it, you think. You don’t feel guilty at all. Instead, you think about how you can’t show him the pocket knife and he just has to take your word for it. The slimy fuck isn’t gonna wiggle out of anything though, you’re not going to take his victim complex as evidence again. You tap your nearly empty bottle three times on the curb, then you smash it. Destruction is bliss- sometimes chaos is the only peace that you can find. All for the fun of it, all to feel human again. You keep shaking a slice your finger on a shard by accident. Someone should clean that mess up!

 

Eridan’s house isn’t too far of a walk so you run. You press your thumb down hard on your index finger to suppress the bleeding- you don’t want to look as fucked up as you actually feel right now. You feel a little bit like you physically cannot stop thinking about things, any things, all things, things that aren’t even things at all. You don’t want him to ask you if you’re crazy or if you’re feeling alright, because you’re supposed to be asking him questions. 

 

You suck the blood off your finger before knocking on the door. It’s not squirting out of anything, just trickling very slowly down the side of your finger and down to your hand. Your suck it up again and keep pressing your thumb down on your finger. You take in his perfect lawn and perfect house, and you wonder what it would look like set on fire. Not that you want to set it on fire, even in the slightest bit, but you think it needs something more alive to it. You bring your good hand down on the door hard. You don’t even need Terezi, it seems.

 

Eridan answers, but you start talking before he has the chance, “I want to talk about something.”

 

He scowls, “Don’t get all girly with that feelings shit, Sol.”

 

Defensively, you say, “It’s not about my feelings, it’s about how you’re a lying fucking bitch.”

 

He tugs at his collar. Collared shirt in the summer, what an absolute piece of shit. You want to take it off of him. “I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talkin’ about. If you want to be an idiot, fine, but don’t drag me into that non-”

 

You tug him outside by the wrist. He stumbles onto the porch. “Just give me five minutes.” You quoting him at an especially vulnerable moment makes him cringe. 

 

He shuts the door behind the two of you, and he follows you when you head to the backyard. As if he had a choice- you’re still gripping his wrist like there’s no tomorrow.

 

“So that gash on Cronus’ head,” you begin, “is it healing up nicely?”

 

He swallows. “Yeah but it looks like it fuckin’ hurt you know I-”

 

“You’re dad didn’t give him that gash. You were lying.”

 

He tries to rip his wrist away, but a bit of adrenaline makes you pretty good at holding on. “I never said he did.”

 

“You made me think it. He didn’t get it from your dad or a goddamn ladder.”

 

He faces away from you. “Yeah okay, okay, but my dad still sucks. He’s not a fuckin’ sadist or whatever I made you think but it’s not like he’s not an absolute pile of garbage. But he got hit with the ladder, I swear.”

 

You punch him with your bad hand in the gut. “Yeah, alright, how come I found his bloody pocket knife outside the church?”

 

He buckles over even though you could have punched him a lot harder. “You did not. You did fuckin’ not. You’re lying, and you’re acting crazy.”

 

You purse your lips, trying to act a little calmer. “I did! Terezi took it though- she takes the evidence. I’m not crazy though- I’m just. I don’t know, I’m just mad! You shouldn’t have lied.”

 

“Okay, yeah big deal. It wasn’t a ladder, but it was still a day before Kurloz died. You know what? Go on and ask Meenah, because she saw him on that day, too. You think Cronus tells me anything, asshole? He just came home with a bloody head and told me to stop starin’ and go to bed or he’d rip my guts out. Excuse me for makin’ up a story so you’d stop pursuin’ a dead end.” He straightens himself up a little bit, then tries to rip his hand away one more time. You let him. “I’ve seen you when you’re mad, Sol. You’re not usually like this. I mean, I knew you have your depressive nihilist times, but damn. Never knew you had the capacity to be a psycho, too.”

 

“I’m not a psycho, ED. I’m just really fucking pissed off!” ED- that’s a new one. You don’t remember calling him that before. TZ, AA, KK, FF, those names are reserved for your closest friends.

 

He doesn’t comment on the name. “Jesus Christ, how did you get your hand so bloody! Sollux Captor, what on earth is going through that ugly fuckin’ head of yours?”

 

You wipe the blood off on the back of your good hand. “It’s nothing bad, I just cut it on a little glass. That’s all.”

 

“You should have patched it up before you came runnin’ over here like some idiot just to fuckin’ punch me and shit. You don’t even care about this case that much, do you?” He guides you over to the patio table and makes you sit down. He sits next to you rather than across from you.

 

You sigh and look up. Your thoughts are just racing, racing racing racing racing racing and you don’t know how to make it stop. There’s Eridan but there’s also birds in the sky and a little wind and blood running down your finger from a cut that’s deeper than you thought and whatever Terezi or Feferi might be doing at the moment. And there’s the funeral- when are they going to set a date for the funeral! They should have one really soon, but you haven’t heard anything about it. You’re sure at least Mituna might want to go. You put your head in both of your hands, feeling the blood stick to your cheek and forehead. “I don’t know. Yes, I do care. I mean, not exactly, but I want to know what the hell happened to the guy, you know? People don’t just get brutally murdered for no reason. It just- the world can’t just be like that.”

 

“Sometimes it is,” Eridan says, pretty detached. Sometimes people just die, you guess, for no rhyme or reason other than it was their time to die. Or it wasn’t, it’s all relative. “Wait here.” He gets up and enters his house, leaving you alone with your mind that you’ve come to hate.

 

The knife by the church and the blood on the building couldn’t have been a coincidence! It just couldn’t have been. Maybe Cronus got in a fight with Kurloz and came back to finish the job a day or two later. You drum your fingers on the table, you drum them faster and faster until your mind is faster than your fingers can move, yet again. You need to find something to focus on, but you just can’t find anything even worth focusing on. You do your best to fixate on the sound of the wind- you close your eyes to listen extra well. It’s a gentle summer breeze colored like calm days at the sea.

 

You remember once when you were very little and your parents took you and Mituna up to the lake for a few days. You built sandcastles and you swam and collected a few seashells that you saw. The seashells still hand sand, and you hand to wash them out a little bit in the sea before piling them into your bucket. Mituna could tell you where a few of them came from, but you forgot almost instantly. Now you find yourself wishing you remembered, and listened to him a little more when he talked. You remember smelling the sea breeze and feeling like you could never ever die. That’s the feeling you try to evoke while you listen to the wind, but it just doesn’t come. The only thing that comes is the pale blue color you see when you close your eyes. You wish the glass cut deeper. It should’ve cut deep enough to make you see stars.

 

Eridan comes back outside with a shitty first aid kit. “You’re an absolute mess,” he says. You don’t respond. You let him wrap up your finger without saying a word. It doesn’t matter what he does, because a little cut wouldn’t have killed you. You barely even feel it.

 

“Thanks,” you manage to spit out. You resent him for looking out for you. That’s not a thing you should resent, but it doesn’t stop you. You came here wanting to kiss him, so you do that too.

 

He pushes you away. “You’re a mess. And we’re at my fuckin’ house, you idiot.”

 

“So?” you ask, “What, like you want to go into the woods every time you feel like kissing someone? That doesn’t sound like a good way of living if you ask me.” You go in for another one, and he dodges again.

 

He chastises, “Not here! Get that through your thick skull.” He looks down and laughs, “What happened to bein’ angry?”

 

“I’m still angry but not at you anymore,” you respond. He told you the truth once you punched him so you don’t see why you should hold a grudge. “I’m just… not happy. I want to be happier.”

 

“Well, I can’t fix that. You’ve got to fix it yourself.” You see it in his eyes- he’s not happy either. You want to feel better. You want to feel like you did just yesterday afternoon. Simple. Simple and free. Alone but not lonely. He looks at you for a bit, waiting for you to respond. Maybe you’re both very alone, but certainly not lonely. Lonely in some ways maybe, like everyone is, but not completely. There’s someone to kiss you or to wrap up your finger when you do something very stupid, and that’s not loneliness. It’s not love either, though. You don’t love him.

 

You try kissing him a third time; he lets you this time. He just gave up. The sunlight moves with his hands, but the wind blows the rest of him. It blows through your hair and up your spine and all through you. Just for a minute, it calms your brain and lets you feel happy again. Happy like sea breeze and caring very little. 

 

Eridan looks at you again and says something very preposterous and out of the blue. “You’re not fucking with me, right?”

 

“What?” you ask, completely confused.

 

“You know,” he begins to explain, “the whole hookin’ up and being kind of somethin’ thing. I don’t do well with short flings and infidelity shit, you know. I mean, no pressure I’m just sayin’-”

 

“I don’t think I’m messing with you, ED. I mean,” you scratch your neck, “I’m not trying to.” You try to kiss him again, but he stops you.

 

“I mean, do you know what this even is? Is it anythin’?”

 

You shrug. “Does it need to be anything?”

 

He responds immediately and staunchly. “Yes! There’s no use in wasting your time on a thing that’s actually nothing.”

 

You wring your hands. “It’s not nothing if you’re having fun.”

 

He mutters, “I don’t know if I fuckin’ am.”

 

“What?”

 

Eridan takes your wrist like you did before to him, but he holds it very lightly. You could break away in an instant if you tried. “Listen, what about this. I don’t care what we do today, or what you want to do today, but next time you see me you’ve got to tell me somethin’. All you have to do is nod at me, yes or no. Yes means you want to actually make this… I don’t know… a semblance of a relationship.” That word scares you, especially with a guy, especially with Eridan. It sounds dirty and completely wrong for you. You don’t think you want a relationship with anybody, but for his sake you’ll mull it over. You let him continue, “Or you shake your head no. That means we just go back to doing whatever. Fightin’, hatin’ each other, maybe hookin’ up every so often if you’re still into that. Does that sound like something you could at least tell me?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like a lot of pressure, though.” You don’t even look at him. You’re looking at a school of geese flying overhead. They’ve still got a few months until they have to fly somewhere warmer, but you envy them for being able to fly at all. They pick up with nothing and go wherever they need to go. They are not tied down by people and things and relationships and other things that they don’t even want. 

 

He nods at you. “Thank God, this whole thing was startin’ to stress me out.”

You don’t respond. Instead, the two of you go off to the woods and do what you guess is your thing now, right in the same woods where a boy died. It’s irresponsible, it’s risky, you know. You know that you will have to make a decision very soon, and you know that whatever decision you make will hold repercussions. You know, but you don’t care. In the moment you feel like you are a God.


	25. YOURS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that I keep cutting my every-other-sunday-deadline closer and closer lol oops

You think life and love are pretty beautiful and bittersweet. You thought so much of Nepeta’s lips and old photos of you with Vriska and how much you forgot Karkat cared about Kurloz’s journal.

 

His family was in one of the pictures, all together, all happy. You have to finish his journal today. You think of Gamzee, crazy Gamzee, sitting by the window and how he hadn’t left since last Sunday to see his brother’s corpse. You heard your mother telling Latula that they made funeral plans four days from now, but there would be no viewing. After the autopsy, they burned the body.

 

You called Nepeta beforehand, and with understanding in her voice she said that she’d be waiting in the backyard. Latula drops you off at the front, and you manage to find your way back with your cane. You’re independent. She greets you and you follow her voice.

 

“I was hoping we could finish this today,” you say definitively. 

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

You add very quickly, “If it’s alright with you, of course.” You forget that Nepeta knew him a lot better than you did, and still may be reeling from shock and grief.

 

She takes you by your hand and has you sit down by her. “It’s fine, Rezi. Let me see the journal.”

 

You take the journal from your skirt and open it up to the dog-eared page. Nepeta takes it from you gently. “June 30th 1964. I have never missed my mother as much as I do today. The devil is looming near my brother. He has refused to pray except to false idols; his eyes, I could swear, are almost always red. When he is not mellow, he is angry. We do not speak except for passing remarks, because I fear what he might say to me, or perhaps, what he might do. If I have any duty left on this earth, perhaps it is to save him. My mother used to say that God had very big plans for me, but I’ve forgotten what she said they were. I wish I could still ask her. It’s very late and I am writing this by candle light- I see my dad turning the key to enter the house. It’s the first time I’ve seen him today. I have to cut this entry short, lest he see the light and invite himself in to see me. Dabit deus his quoque finem.” Nepeta adds, “The last two lines are scrawled very quickly.”

 

You nod, simply expecting her to move on. She does.

 

“Ehem. July 1st, 1964. I woke up to my father baking. He made cinnamon rolls in the morning. They were burnt. Later I visited Meulin and her family, because my father decided to stay home all day. Meulin is so lovely, and I had a lovely time, but it is becoming increasingly difficult not to feel so alone. Next year will mark my last year in school and the freedom that adulthood brings, but I don’t anticipate that I will feel content, even then. Severance from a broken home may bring independence, yes, but it cannot make me feel more like I belong. This is something that Meulin has never understood, and will never understand. Perhaps that means that I will only find a true understanding in God. If so, so be it. My faith is ever unwavering. Father, may you forgive me for my sins. Thank you for your grace, for you son Jesus Christ who died for us. Forgive me for my sins, forgive my brother for his disloyalty. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

All around you is sound. You listen to the timbre of Nepeta’s sweet little voice. You listen to the birds that try to sing over her. You listen to the soft, quiet summer breeze, and the town and the cars in the distance. And you try, only for a moment, to listen for the ghosts. “He was just praying,” you say half heartedly. You wonder how sad and terrifying it must have been to be Kurloz Makara.

 

“Do you want me to go on?” Nepeta asks. Like she doesn’t already know, like you didn’t come in saying you wanted to finish.

 

You nod and wish she didn’t ask every time. You wish once more to be a balloon, a beautiful balloon of red or any color, who could just fly away. You want to take Nepeta to see the photographs, and for her to tell you what every single one of them looks like, then kiss her again, close-mouthed and kind. She continues, “July 3rd, 1964. I have resolved to find out where Gamzee goes at night. My father’s activities will always remain a mystery to me, be I do not care where he goes and what he does. His soul is lost. He’s the devil, and you can’t pray away the devil. You can only pray him out. Gamzee not the devil, he’s just got the devil looming over him, just like me. The devil stays in me, so I keep God closer. The next time my brother tries to leave late at night, I will be there to follow him. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

You blurt out, “That’s something! We’re getting somewhere! He was probably following Gamzee for whatever reason the night of the sixth, someone met him and sliced him up, and then Sollux and I found him on the seventh! Brilliant! Keep reading, Nepeta!”

 

“July 5th, 1964. It’s nighttime as I write this. On the fourth, Gamzee didn’t leave the house it appeared, so I went to spend time with Meulin. I could not bring myself to have a nice time, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t tell Meulin anything, because it would only have worried her. I lament the fact that Mituna Captor may have been the only one who really could have understood my feelings and helped me to formulate a plan of action. He was never religious, God bless his soul God bless his poor soul, but he was a true man of action.” Nepeta pauses. “That was the last time I paw him, Terezi. He didn’t look too good. I should’ve… I should’ve fucking asked him what was going on!” You hear her put her head down on the table very softly. “I should have helped him. Make sure he didn’t go in the woods at night or anything stupid like that.”

 

You take an impossibly long breath, then breathe out. “We have a tendency, as humans, to think, looking back, that we could have solved the impossible and prevented the inevitable. Nothing Kurloz did was your fault, nor was anything that happened to him.” You touch her head and stroke her hair, just a bit. It’s coarse, but it feels clean. “Just remember that.”

 

You don’t know how much time passes, a minute, two or three, but eventually she picks her head back up and looks back at the page again. Slowly, she continues, spitting out each word as if they were poisoned. “I should have let him die, he would have wanted that. On this day, I had the opportunity to follow Gamzee. Father wasn’t home at night, and the night was clear. I got as far as the church before I was intercepted. I lost track of my brother when Cronus Ampora stepped in front of me, brandishing a knife. He articulated simply that we had some ‘unfinished business’ that we would deal with right there in front of the church. After declining his offer to fight, he tried to shove me. I didn’t shove back. He shoved me until I was pressed against the wall of the church, and he was practically in the bushes. He cut of left arm with his knife and made a noticeable blood spatter on the church wall. I took his knife from him and cut across his forehead. After I was finished, I threw the knife back into the bushes. He said he wasn’t finished with me, and ran away. He is for God alone to judge, but I do not have faith in Cronus Ampora. He’s got the devil near him; he’s inviting him in, too. Tomorrow I will try to follow Gamzee again, hopefully next time I will find out where he goes. Dabit deus his quoque finem.”

 

There’s so many implications to his entry, and so many loose ends. “He wrote one for the sixth, right? Please tell me he wrote one for the sixth.”

 

You hear Nepeta audibly swallow. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she takes your finger and runs it across the jagged edge of a paper. “Presumably.”

 

You’re fuming. “Someone ripped it out! I’ll bet anything Makara ripped it out because it said who the murder would be! Nepeta, I have to go back in that house, I have to find-”

 

“Terezi!” Nepeta shouts, “Calm down!”

 

You take a breath and take her hand. “I have to find the entry for the sixth. I don’t know we just… we can’t have met a dead end like this!”

 

She responds, “I don’t think it’s a dead end. I think your next step is to look at the things Kurloz never figured out himself.”

 

“Like what, exactly?”

 

“Well, fur example, figure out what Cronus’ unfinished business was with him. And maybe more importantly, figure out what Gamzee was doing in the woods at night. He probably got killed following him.”

 

You shake your head. “Cronus is just a dirty creep and Gamzee is lucid. It will make sense if I have the last page. I bet Dave would go look with me, if you won’t.”

 

She squeezes your hands in hers. Her hands are sweaty. “Just think it over for a bit, okay? Go home and get some rest, maybe. Or you could take a nap here or something, my parents wouldn’t mind.”

 

You let her do what she wants to you, like kiss you on the cheek and once quickly on the mouth. You let her get you cold cranberry juice that she says is pink and beautiful with ice cubes. You think that you like her, you really do. But when it’s all said and done and she lets you lay down on her couch, journal in hand, you can’t quite get the smell of strawberry out of your mind.

 

Even if Karkat would let you show the photographs to someone, you don’t know if you could show them all to Nepeta. You’d show her the ones with you and Latula in lovely sundresses, or you laughing with Tavros and Aradia. You alone chasing butterflies, her with her family and Equius’ family all together. You would never show her a picture of you and Vriska Serket together, no, those are personal. Those are yours, and will always stay just yours.


	26. Amo(u)r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to rawrimirm for this awesome fanart http://rawrimirm.tumblr.com/post/134176758084/you-guys-should-totally-read-all-for-the-fun-of-it (it is at that link)   
> This story is actually pretty close to being done. I'll probably try and add in one or two more chapters before winter break but with finals week, no promises!

You didn’t bother to pick up Terezi before going to Meenah’s. She lives right down the street from the Amporas- it would have just been a waste of time. And with the banging in your head, you don’t think you could bear to take quiet walks and do things that waste time. Terezi might have even asked you to stay back, let her ask the questions, like you’re some kind of sidekick. She’s better at this stuff, sure, but you’ll be damned if you’re ever anyone’s sidekick.

 

Meenah and Feferi have a beautiful house if you’ve ever seen one. It’s big like Eridan’s, but it’s not quite as plain. They’ve got flowers in the front, even rosebushes. Your mother tried to grow one once, but it died before it bloomed. You’d bet anything the roses were Feferi’s, if not a landscaper’s. She always had a special talent for bringing life to things, a beautiful talent, completely opposite of yours. If anyone needed anything to be fucked up, well, at least they could always come to you. 

 

You wipe the sweat off the back of your neck, trying to calm down before you knock on Feferi’s door. You don’t want to stand there too long, because she may already be watching you from her window, like she watches people all day come and go. You’re not shaking anymore, but your thoughts are still racing. You’re not bleeding, but your feel your heartbeat in your finger.

 

Boom.

 

Boom. 

 

BOOM.

 

He wants you to make a decision, but you don’t know if you could trust yourself to do what’s best for you. When it comes down to it, you know you’re not ready for anything that Eridan wants from you. You want nothing more than to go back to the sea with your family, before you knew that the world could be so despicably cruel, and before you knew that you were different from everyone else. You want, once more, to be happy, simple, and free. When you knock, Feferi answers nearly immediately. You wonder how long she saw you wait.

 

“Hey,” she says. She smiles, God, what a pretty smile she has. One tooth at the front is a little bit crooked, more back than the others, but you love her smile more for it’s inexplicable imperfections. “Did you need something? You didn’t call.”

 

You shake your head gently. Feferi is calming, she’s like spring and the first rains in April. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t call, FF. I just wanted to stop by to say hello, if that’s okay with you.” You scratch at the back of your neck.

 

Feferi smiles warmly. “Of course it is, you came just at the right time. I was just making tea.”

 

As you step inside you ask, “Is Meenah home?”

 

Feferi laughs. “No, you don’t have to worry about her yelling at you or anything. It’s just me here today.”

 

“Oh, okay, yeah that’s great.” You pause for a moment, and decide to redirect your question to Feferi. It’s not a very difficult question. “Just out of curiosity- uh- when was the last time you saw Cronus Ampora?”

 

She taps her chin. “That would have to have been last Saturday, but I didn’t see him long. He just came as usual to ask Meenah on a date. It failed as usual, you know, but he’s very persistent.” She pauses to giggle. It’s nice to know that he was here, you suppose, but you don’t really know if he had the gash or not. As if reading your mind, she continues, “You know it was funny, because I caught a glimpse of him, and he had this awful cut on his forehead. I didn’t hear if he explained anything to Meenah, but I’m sure that it will scar. Isn’t that strange? He’ll have a scar there on his face, just like Dualscar. Like father like son, I guess.”

 

“That sure is weird,” you reply. Feferi confirmed what Eridan said exactly, but you sort of wish that she didn’t. If he got it the night Kurloz died, the whole thing would have been so much easier. You could just pin the murder on his old grudge and let the thing be done. You think it may be worth investigating a little further, but like Eridan said, you don’t even know if you care. You follow Feferi into the kitchen- beautiful and homey- and she bids you to take a seat while she prepares tea for the two of you.

 

“So how’ve you been, Sollux? I haven’t seen much of you lately.” Milk and honey, just like she always used to prepare tea.

 

You take a deep breath. “I’m… alright. The whole Kurloz thing has just got me down, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Feferi says sadly. “Are you going to the funeral?”

 

“Did they schedule it already?”

 

Feferi nods. “Yeah, it’s four days from today. There’s extra room in my car, if you did want to go.”

 

You stare at her clock. Three o’clock, a peculiar hour that never seems to get anything done. “Yeah I might want to, I just don’t know if my brother would, too. They used to be pretty close, before… everything.”

 

Feferi looks intently at her cup of tea, as if in some deep thought. Or else, she just doesn’t want to look at you. “Does he know?”

 

“I couldn’t tell you. I think my dad told him, but even then, I don’t know if he really knows. Haven’t talked to him recently.” In Feferi’s kitchen, with an old friend making tea, you could almost swear you smell the sea. Almost.

 

She slowly slides you your cup; it’s still steaming at the top, so you wait to take a sip. Feferi mutters, “You should talk to him.”

 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess. You know it’s hard for me, though.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I can’t imagine it. But you should still do it. You should be the one to ask him if he wants to go to the funeral, if you think no one else would ask him.” She sips the tea while it’s still steaming- you wonder how she doesn’t get burned, or if drinking hot things takes practice.

 

You laugh bitterly. “I’ll take your advice, then.” You feel your pulse again, right in your finger. Maybe Eridan didn’t wrap it up quite right, fucking idiot he is, you wouldn’t put it past him. What an idiot, you like him, sure, but what does he even want from you? Could Feferi tell you that, you wonder, what the whole world seems to want from you? You wonder if your high is over, or if you’ve just crashed for the time being. You like sitting quietly with Feferi over tea much better than cutting yourself on bottles and going 100 miles per hour, but you know that you can’t help it when you do. “How’ve things been with you?”

 

“Alright, I’ve been studying a lot,” she responds. “Summer’s nice, but it sure can be a drag some days. You know the days, when it gets so hot that you can barely even move without breaking a sweat. It was like that yesterday, but I’m sure you were up to something interesting, at least.”

 

You smile. “A lot less interesting than you’d think.” You shake your head, “You’re right, though, it sure was hot.”

 

“The tea’s not too hot for a day like today, is it?”

 

“No,” you say, “we’re inside, it’s just right.”

 

“That’s good. I didn’t want to turn you away because of something as silly as a cup of tea.”

 

“Oh, you could never.” You pause and look back at the clock, whose hands look like they haven’t moved an inch. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, something, FF.”

 

“Anything,” she says, bring the tea back up to her lips. You suppose yours is cool enough for a taste now. 

 

She made it just right, as she always does. “Do you think it’s cruel to string someone along in a relationship?” You may as well be blunt with yourself, if you tell Eridan yes, you’d be stringing him along. It would be temporary, fun, not like it would ever last. Not like he must think it could, anyways.

 

She raises her eyebrows. “Who are you stringing along, Mister? I haven’t heard of you dating anyone.”

 

You shake your head. “No- not. Not me. I’m asking because my friend-”

 

Feferi rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright, you don’t have to tell little old me if you want to keep secrets like that. But you do have give me a little more context if you want proper advice.”

 

You swallow. It’s good, you suppose, that you’re asking Feferi for advice, and not someone who was a little more familiar with where you’ve been spending a considerable portion of your time lately. And you know that Feferi won’t intrude if you’ve made it clear that you don’t want her to. “Just imagine, say, a guy and girl. Then it’s just a casual fling, not really anything, kind of occurring by happenstance, then the girl likes the guy a lot more than he likes her, and she wants something more long term than he can give her. Is it… would it be wrong for the guy to preserve the relationship even though he knows it won’t last?” You don’t know if your main concern is the longevity of your potential relationship, but rather, how emotionally demanding it may become. You also don’t want anyone to find out, for the love of God and all things holy.

 

She takes a sip of her tea, just staring at you for a moment. “Why are you so sure it wouldn’t last?”

 

You say quietly, “It just wouldn’t.”

 

Feferi, in her infinite wisdom, tells you, “Break it off when it would hurt her the least, okay? Sometimes us girls can wear our hearts on our sleeves.” After a pause she looks at you and says thoughtfully, “But, well, so can boys like you.”

 

“Thanks Feferi.” You look at the clock, which seems to have miraculously moved a bit. Time’s strange. As soon as you look away, another five minutes have passed, and another, and another until the stars come out. “What have you been studying?”

 

Feferi perks up. “French. My mother says it’s a good language to learn now- very proper and useful.”

 

You ask, intrigued, “Is it difficult for you?”

 

“No, not very. Mostly it’s just memorization, and lots of practice, but I have time. Pourquoi?”

 

You tilt your head back. “I don’t know, it’s interesting and all. I’ve never been good at the whole languages thing, but it’d be nice to learn another one.” Spanish, you think, a summer in Machu Picchu and all across South America after graduation, just you and Aradia if she’d still be up for it. She’s still there, you have to believe she is, because you saw her smile. And you’ve come to realize that fire is exciting, but it will always die down. Love is in the way they smile.

 

Feferi gives you a warm smile, the kind you think anyone could fall in love with. You wish that it was Feferi you fell for, you really do. You could sit and learn French with her, drink tea with honey, and not look at the kitchen clock. As much as you like to doubt that a higher power holds any dominion over you, you have never convinced yourself that you choose who to love.

 

You feel better after passing another hour or so with Feferi, before you ultimately have to say goodbye. It’s nice to be calm once in awhile, just to look at a pretty girl and not want anything more from her than just to hear her voice. It passes though, as quickly as it came, because you feel the high creeping up on you once more, like you knew it would. You breathe in the air, hot and sticky, goes straight to your head and fills you up like a balloon.

Before you know it, you’re at the corner store with that guy Jim or John or whoever behind the counter, who says hi to you like an acquaintance would but doesn’t use your name. You buy a Spanish dictionary.


	27. LOST 4ND FOUND

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will probably be the last one before new years sorry this is moving so slowly especially at the ending! but also I think some of the warnings I put may have seemed not to make much sense in the beginning of the story (i.e. the ones for death and violence, the T maturity rating) but yeah the next few chapters will really pick up on that so uh yeah brace yourselves or something

It took some convincing, but Nepeta said she’d come to Makara’s house with you. She said she didn’t want you hurting yourself or anything, and she knew you’d go even if you didn’t get Dave to come. You wouldn’t have asked Dave, of course, but you couldn’t have gone alone. You don’t quite know what you would have done if you didn’t eventually wear Nepeta down. You might’ve just broken down and asked Sollux, because now you have to know how that journal ends. You just have to.

 

“The window’s open,” Nepeta says, “Do we go through or-”

 

You smile to yourself. “Yes of course.” The window’s always open. “It there anybody by it? Look closer.”

 

“I don’t see anybody.”

 

You nod your head. “Well, let’s go up then. Is it a nice looking house?”

 

“Oh, pawfully nice,” Nepeta responds dreamily.

 

“That’s sad,” you mutter.

 

“Why sad?”

 

You shrug. “It’s just sad to think that now Gamzee’s got that huge nice place to himself so often. It sounds like it’d get really lonely.” You don’t like to give people free passes for reckless behavior, like turning so quickly to drugs and staying inside for days at a time, but you understand why Gamzee does it. You don’t like to think that you’d be the same way, but if you haven’t been through the same thing, you don’t think you’re in a position to judge. However, it’s always difficult to completely absolve him of sin. You think that Kurloz Makara may have put it better than anyone else could. He’s not the devil, no not even close, but he’s got the devil near him, following him.

 

Nepeta guides you up to the window; she goes in first, then pulls you in after her. “It’s nice in here,” she whispers, “they decorate nicely.”

 

“Why are you whispering?” You say aloud. Even if Gamzee were home, you don’t think he’d put up much of a fight.

 

“This just doesn’t feel right to me.”

 

By a twist of fate, you take her arm and begin to guide her. You know from last time where the stairs are. “It’s fine, Nepeta, it’s totally fine. I just want to do a quick little search, see if he has that last page…”

 

You hear her say something to herself.

 

“What?”

 

She says a bit louder, “I said, if you think it really incriminates someone he doesn’t want incriminated, he purrobably ripped it up instead of saving it.”

 

The two of you come to the base of the steps, and she goes up with you willingly. You hold the crook of her arm. “No, I bet he was saving it. Last time Dave and I were here, we found his wife’s jewelry all still under his bed. I bet he can’t bare to part with those last pages. It’s like a memento for him.”

 

As you reach the top of the stairs, Nepeta responds. You can almost feel the vigor with which she shakes her head. “You took the journal from his room. That was probably him memento, Furezi. Not just the last damn page.”

 

You guide her to the right and into Makara’s room. The floors feel like ice, and you get the sudden fear that you will simply fall through. You can sense Nepeta getting mad, but you cling to her arm. You shouldn’t have brought her to the Makara house, you should’ve just asked Sollux. He wouldn’t have ratted on you, of course he wouldn’t have. He’s not a future detective, you are. He would’ve had no place, absolutely no right, to rat on you. “I just want to look around.”

 

As the two of you enter the room, you gravitate immediately towards the dresser, behind which you found the journal in the first place. You can’t exactly place Nepeta in the room, but you hear her rattling around with something. You can’t feel anything, just the carpet, just the wall. You think that there was more there last week, things like socks and papers, but now it’s clean. Maybe Makara was looking for the journal, and maybe you really messed up more than you think that you did. The journal doesn’t do much, though, right? You feel your heartbeat quicken. It doesn’t do much, only incriminate him for child neglect. You brought the journal with you, and as difficult as it is, you take it from your skirt and put it back in its rightful place. Perhaps returning what you stole could make proper amends, pay the price out for your head. You settle it nicely against the wall, and move to search under the bed.

 

You’re skinny enough that you can fit completely under the bed, like Dave couldn’t quite do. Curiously, you can’t find a damn thing. Even the box of jewelry has been moved, presumably to a safer location. Safe from thieves like you. You let out a small groan of frustration. No matter how long you’ve been playing the game, you never expect the other players to outsmart you.

 

“No luck?” Nepeta asks.

 

“He moved his stuff around. He knows people were here.”

 

You hear Nepeta come closer to you. “Then maybe we shouldn’t really be here. I didn’t find much in the closet.”

 

You roll promptly out from under the bed. “If he moved the important stuff from his room, I wonder where the hell he put it.” You put one hand on his bed before impulsively climbing on top of it.

 

“What are you doing?” Nepeta hisses.

 

You smile and bounce a little bit. The bed’s the softest thing you’ve ever been on. “I’m just seeing how the rich people live. You could join me if you want.”

 

She laughs, but denies all the same. “You’re sick! This is Makara’s bed, Terezi. Let’s just take a quick look around the rest of the place and get out. Then we could talk about…” she pauses, and says slyly, “whatever you want to talk about.”

 

You get up and follow her by the arm, truly valuing her common sense. Of course, it sure would have been a thrill to make out on a king-sized bed in a house you’d entered without permission. Vriska’s the type to do something like that, you think. If she’s even into girls, which was the part about her that you never knew, and it always killed you deep down. If she was though, you can’t shake the feeling that you really, really, missed out. You wish she hadn’t said no to running away. She guides you quickly into another room.

 

“Where do you think we are?” you ask.

 

She takes in the scene for a moment, as do you. You reach down to feel the carpet, shaggy and soft. Nepeta finally says, “This was Kurloz’s room. It’s got light blue walls, summer sky blue, and white carpet. Not much on the walls, and it’s neat. It just… it looks like some ghost’s room. A ghost must live here, if anybody does.”

 

“Eerie,” you say, breaking free from her arm. You feel around on the walls, on his bed, on his dresser, on his desk. You find a burnt down candle, and stop. “He wrote a journal entry here. Right here by the candlelight!” You start rummaging through the desk drawers, even though you can’t look at his things. Papers, pencils, none of them are scrapped journal entries, you’re sure, but you ask Nepeta, “Can you tell me what I’m finding here? You know, use your eyes, tell me something?”

 

“Pencils and blank paper, Terezi. It’s nothing, put it back. Check another drawer.”

 

You cross the room and try trifling through his dresser. Socks, you find socks and shirts and whatever else Kurloz wore. They’re all such ridiculously huge articles of clothing, he was so big! How could any mortal human being have brought him down? You remember his last journal entry where he fought Cronus, and how strange it was. Strange, indeed, that he barely fought! But he won, he won with Cronus. “I think I know how the killer brought him down,” you say somberly.

 

“How?”

 

You clear your throat. “I bet he didn’t fight. Whoever killed him was someone Kurloz refused to fight. A friend, most likely. That’s.” You take a breath. “That’s really damn sad.”

 

“I found something,” Nepeta says. “If you could call it something.”

 

You rush over to her, almost falling on the way. She catches you gently, reminding you at once why you like her. She’s very, very kind to you. But that’s the thing about Nepeta. You’re not good enough for her. You could live a thousand lifetimes and never, ever deserve her. She’s too beautifully sincere, her kisses too innocently soft. She’s too right for you; she laughs at all your jokes and her hand fits yours like the last puzzle piece. Vriska Serket was always so wrong for you, so cruel and downright detestable. You deserved her. There was no effort to be better than yourself when you were with Vriska, because the two of you just were. She is the worst person you have ever had the misfortune of meeting and you will always love her more than you love anybody else. She is not the hope in the stars, but the fire that keeps you alive. You take a short breath, and try to think, that in the scheme of things, you really did kiss Nepeta for a reason, and that maybe it was fate that prevented you from ever kissing Vriska in the same way. You really would like to believe that, but you resolved that night at the church not to believe in frivolous things like plans and soulmates. You believe in colors, and you trust that Nepeta will leave the right ones. “What is it?”

 

You hear her shake something in a box. “There’s little papers in here- I think it’s the journal entry. What’s left of it, anyhow.”

 

“You’re not telling me he-”

 

“He ripped it up.”

 

She opens the box and lets you feel inside. You say frantically, “Can you still read any of it?”

 

“I can make out words here and there, but I don’t think it’s worth it to try and piece the thing back together. I think you should go off of what you’ve already found out.”

 

You run the little slips of paper between your fingers. “We have to find out where Gamzee goes at night. That’s the key. We should find out what the hell happens there.”

 

She takes the box from you. “You know it’s probably dangerous. It got Kurloz killed.”

 

“Yeah I know. I’ll. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” To make sure she doesn’t try to warn you again and shake your confidence, you lean down to kiss her. It’s nice. It’s very nice, and you’re all alone in a ghost’s room, so you don’t have to be close-mouthed and proper like you were before. And when she doesn’t push you away, you’re convinced again that this is another moment life is about. Friends and old photographs and kissing in places that you know you shouldn’t be.

 

She laughs at you, softly and nervously. “We really should leave, now that we’ve found what we were looking for. I don’t want to be part of some particular cat-astrophy here.”

 

Sometimes her puns are too much for you, but you do think they’re cute. You think about asking one more time about the bed, but your decide against it. She’s uncomfortable here, obviously, so it’d be the best thing just to get back home.

 

You head into the halls, and feel Nepeta suddenly speed up. In fact, she almost drags you down the stairs. Finally, when the two of you are down the stairs and out of the window, you ask her why she suddenly began to rush.

 

She brings you down to the curb, and hugs you very tightly. “Oh, Terezi, don’t ever make me do that again. I’m not one to shy away from fights, but there’s something in there that’s so unsettling. And you know, we weren’t alone.”

 

“Wait, what?” you ask. She begins to walk with you, what you know to be the direction of your house.

 

She breathes very deeply. “Gamzee was in his room, door wide open, I wonder why the hell I didn’t see him. I mean, he must have known on some level that there were people there. I mean, we made eye contact on the way out. God, you know I don’t shy away from fights, but he was just-”

 

“He’s unsettling?”

 

She shivers in the middle of the summer heat. “Very.”

 

“He was probably stoned.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Of course he was.”

Nepeta walks you back to your house, and things quickly get easier between the two of you. But by the time she lets you go at your door, and the two of you part ways, you become certain that you’ve made a horrible mistake.


	28. What'2 Left II2 Alriight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a short content warning here, there is a short mention of suicide in this chapter if any of you are very sensitive to that.

You step into Mituna’s room for the first time in what seems like a year. That can’t be right, of course you’ve talked to him since his accident, until, of course, you stopped talking to him. Maybe you stopped talking to your brother when you stopped wanting to feel the anger and guilt that he seemed to inspire in you. You shake off the voices calling you a coward and take in the music he has playing. Something with violins and flutes. You guess he’s still smart enough to appreciate things like that; you never even were.

 

“Mituna?” You ask cautiously.

 

Your brother looks at you. You are guilty, once again, and realise that all of the anger you had at any point towards him was no one’s fault but your own. You look at each other for a long time before you invite yourself in to sit on the chair across from his bed. “How are you?”

 

He twitches exactly twice then says too loudly, “Fine! Great!” His hands are shaking, so you go to turn on the light. You don’t know why he had it off.

 

He yells when you turn the light on, covering his eyes, then you remember the migraines. It’s never just one thing anymore it seems, your brother has forgotten how to speak, yes, but he also has the migraines. Aradia’s not just empty, but you’re still in love with her. Eridan’s not just a boy who kissed you, but you’re a boy and you let it happen, and now he wants something else. Kurloz is dead, you saw his goddamn body, and you’re the one who has to tell your brother. You turn off the light. “I’m very sorry.”

 

“I’m very. SORRY!” He says it back to you, and you sit back down in the chair.

 

You ask him gently, “Do you remember Kurloz?”

 

He nods.

 

“Did you know that he’s dead? Gone, dead, you know, no longer here on Earth? Did Dad tell you?” The words come out of your mouth like poison, you hate the words you have to say.

 

Mituna shouts, “DEAD! FUCK!” He looks out the window.

 

You take a deep breath in. “Do you understand that?”

 

He says more calmly than you’ve seen him since last year, “Yes.” He does not stop looking out the window. 

 

“Do you want to go to the funeral? Do you want to say goodbye to him?”

 

“No.”

 

You nod your head in return. “I understand. I’m not sure if-”

 

“YES.” He looks at you for a second and twitches. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES, yes!”

 

You nod again. “Okay, I’ll tell Mom and Dad. I’ll try and get that to happen for you.”

 

You resolve to sit with him a little bit longer. You want to take in his features, because you could have sworn you’d forgotten what he really looked like. “How do you feel about Latula? Do you remember her?”

 

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Bang, bang. Damn!” Sometimes he’s crude, of course, but you suppose you find it endearing. Sometimes he makes sense, too. he says something incomprehensible to himself.

 

“What?”

 

“Have you seen Meulin?”

 

You’re taken aback by how much of his statement you understand. Again, the guilt hits you, how badly you underestimated him. “Yeah, I saw her the other day. She’s doing okay. Nepeta and Horuss are helping her through it. I saw Cronus the other day, too-”

 

He rolls his eyes.

 

You laugh out loud. “I feel that way about him, too. He’s a damn creep. You might like to know that he’s all beaten up right now on his eye. It’s gonna turn into a scar just like his dad’s.” He laughs back at you, so you take a gamble that you’re sure every single person who’s talked to him before you has tried to make. “Do you remember what happened the night you got hurt?”

 

“No.”

 

You sigh. “Man, that figures. It’s been tearing me up, MT. I’m sorry, but you don’t know how damn much it’s been tearing me up. But you know what? I’ve been a shit brother to you. We’re gonna start spending more time with each other. We’re gonna start having chats like this, and playing games, and going to the beach just like the old days. Maybe not just like, but we’re just going to have fun together, alright? Between you and me, I don’t think I want to be quite so sad anymore, and maybe that starts with you.”

 

“Did you hear the bells?”

 

“What?”

 

Mituna laughs in a way so kindhearted that it’s unsettling. “The bells! The church fucking bells!” He twitches two more times.

 

“You were by the church when you got hurt?”

 

“Ding, dong, ding, dong. CRASH!”

 

You remember the week after they found him, and when you all thought he wouldn’t wake up. Everyone cried, they asked why it was him. No one gets mugged in a small town. So they stopped looking for the guy, but you found his wallet on his shelf where he always left it. You didn’t even think of it, but he didn’t even have his wallet. He didn’t have a thing on him besides the clothes on his back when he went out so late at night. You close your eyes. You’re glad the lights are off so you don’t have to look at him, at least not for real. Did you hear the bells, the bells on top of the church. On top. “Mituna, did you jump?”

 

“Ding, dong, DING, dong…”

 

You grab him by his wrists and ask, “Did you jump off the roof of the church? Did you jump?”

 

He nods, and that’s all, and you leave him. You grab a bottle of soda and take it out to the curb.

 

You could have sworn you were running to fast, and now your body feels like it’s running on nothing. You’re parents must know, of course, and what cowards they are not to tell you. You were right for hating him, because he really meant to leave you. Or else you were wrong, because he was too fucked up to think about anything else but dying. Ding, dong, ding dong. He didn’t even seem sad. He seemed stressed, you suppose, but he didn’t seem like… he didn’t seem like that to you. You pour the remaining half of your soda on the curb. You break the bottle. You drag the jagged part across your left set of knuckles. You drag it across your left hand. If Terezi ever wanted red, real life red, she could never know it like you do. She used to talk your ear off about grouping things by colors, but to her, colors are only metaphors. You’re ready to let every last drop of red drain from your veins onto the road until the only thing left is your cold dead corpse. You barely register the rain for itself, but more so the way that it washes off your hand and makes a murky red puddle in the road. It stings like hell, it stings like salt. It stings because you’re alive. And so what if he jumped so that his brain could come out red on the pavement? And if you cut your hand open to see the same thing, for once? It’s so easy for you to forget with all the things that seem to keep happening on top of all the other things, that sometimes people do things all for the fun of it, and sometimes, it’s the only reason to do anything at all. You throw away your broken bottle, clean your hand, and head to Aradia’s house.

 

You don’t make a scene about knocking on the door, like you always do. You just do it even though it hurts your hand and you wait for her to answer you. When she does, alone, you feel alright. “Hey,” you say.

 

“Hey, Sollux. I’m sorry if you’re here about your case, I can’t tell you much more than I already did.”

 

You take in her appearance for a moment. She’s gorgeous, and she never stopped being gorgeous. “No, it’s fine. I’m here to see you.”

 

She looks taken aback. “Why?”

 

“Because I’ve been the worst kind of fucking idiot on the planet. I don’t know AA, I’ve just been the absolute worst to everyone around me, but especially you.”

 

“Do you want to come in? You’re soaking wet.” She steps aside, letting you drip onto her mother’s welcome mat. “But I don’t know what you mean by that.”

 

You shake your head. “Of course you do. I forgot about all those plans we made, you know? I forgot about Machu Picchu, and South America! I haven’t gotten a job, but I’ll start learning Spanish, and I’ll get one, I swear.”

 

She takes your hand in yours. “That was always very stupid of us, wasn’t it?”

 

“Did you save your money from all those bake sales?”

 

She locks eyes with you. Smooth like red clay, you used to tell her they were the color of the clay in New Mexico, but they’re smooth and calm like clay is, too. “Of course I did.”

 

You smile. “I’m so sorry I stopped coming around here to say hello to you and stuff, AA. You know I never stopped liking you, right? Make sure you remember that, too, when you think about how much of an asshole I am.”

 

“I don’t think you’re an asshole. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I really wish I did, because it sounds like you put a lot of thought into it. Do you want to eat with me?”

 

Taking her by the wrist, you continue, “Of course I’m an asshole! What kind of guy stops hanging around with the girl of his dreams just because she hit her head? The worst kind of guy. I’m the worst.” You let go of her wrist, but she stays.

 

“I’d like it if you hung around more, Sollux. I don’t know about what else you’re saying, but I forgive you for whatever you think you did wrong. But you’re welcome company.”

 

“Do you still love me?” You ask her that like you’re lost in time and space, and your words will freeze inside your mouth.

 

She scrunches her eyebrows together. “You know, that’s a trick question. Love doesn’t mean the same to two single people on this planet, let alone you and me. I don’t get things like that like I used to.”

 

You sigh. “Can I rephrase, then?”

 

“Of course you can.”

 

“Would you like to kiss me?”

 

She nods, so you do.

There’s lots of things that you think about shortly afterwards, namely, Eridan Ampora, but the thought comes easier than it did yesterday. It might be easier with him, sure, but that’s because you saw him as a substitute for what you and Aradia had as kids. It wouldn’t be fair to you or him if you let him think it was love. If only for a moment, your world stops spinning, and you are at ease. People are grey on the outside, but lips like Aradia’s are blood red. You stay at her house so long that by the time you say goodbye, your clothes are dry and the sun has gone down. The rain feels like a movie.


	29. F1N4L1TY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took too long and also this is a really short filler chapter. I'm going to try and upload the last few chapters punctually and then I'm never going to try and write a novel length fic ever again

Nepeta was nice enough to guide you back to her house, despite how shaken up the two of you had gotten at the Makara house. You think that Gamzee must be like a ghost inside, unaware of anything that happens outside of his own head. Nepeta’s house is nothing out of the ordinary, but it seems eerie to you. You hear people shuffling, but you are not aware of anyone else in the room besides you and Nepeta.

 

“Have you had Equius around lately?” You ask.

 

She lets go of your arm. “Not since you and Sollux last came over. We’ve all been on edge lately.”

 

You nod and find your way to the couch. “He seemed a bit off last time I talked to him.”

 

You hear Nepeta walk all over the room, the pitter patter of her feet, fixing things here and there and touching other just for the sake of touching something. “The whole Kurloz thing threw him pawff more than he lets on. I called him the other day, and he talked fine, but he wasn’t right. That’s one reason we should find whoever killed Kurloz, you know? No catter how much people don’t wanna admit it, they’ll feel better when we know what happened.”

 

“Tragedy seems to be amplified by small towns.”

 

Nepeta doesn’t respond to you. She keeps walking and touching things in the room. You can’t even tell what she’s doing, what each click and clack belongs to. You couldn’t even imagine. Some things sound like books, some like metal, some like glass, a few like plastic. Each sound creates a different shade of grey.

 

You keep speaking in response to the silence. “Has Meulin been around?”

 

“Yes, she’s probably here right meow. She’s probably holed up in her room.”

 

You lower your voice, out of fear that you would disturb Meulin. “Is Horuss here too?”

 

“He hasn’t been here in a day or two.” You sense that she’s very nervous. You find that strange, because you always thought that Nepeta was fearless. You had never found yourself wishing for sight frequently, or for such a specific purpose, but you wish that you could have seen exactly what Gamzee looked like when Nepeta saw him. You want to know what his eyes looked like, glazed over, and you want to know what any of the words people use to describe him actually mean. You’re certain that’s what threw her off so much. “So where do we go next?”

 

You shrug. “It’s exactly like you said, we need to go off what we know, which is very little. We have two knives, a blood stain, a few alibis, and an incomplete journal. All of that leads us back to the church, I suppose.”

 

You hear her slow down with the things she’s been touching, and eventually stop altogether. When she speaks, her voice is much more even. “You purrpose we go to the church again?”

 

“Well, sort of. I propose we figure out what Gamzee does at night. According to all the signs, he probably was going to the woods by the church at night.”

 

She sits down next to you on the couch. “How do we know when he’ll be there, though? I don’t think he goes every night.”

 

You stop for a moment. You genuinely didn’t think of that. In fact, just a few days ago Gamzee told you he hadn’t left the house since his brother died. It might take him a week or so to even get himself out onto the street in front of his house again, let alone all the way to the woods. “I suppose we should just go every night until we find him.”

 

“We as in you and me?”

 

“You me and Sollux. Maybe Rose could come, too. I don’t want to be caught in the woods all alone, I mean.” You take a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m scared out of my mind about that.”

 

She sits quietly for a minute. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

 

“I think we should go tomorrow. Well, for the first time tomorrow. If we can’t spot him, we’ll go the next day, and so on.”

 

You’re taken aback by the sound of a door opening. Since when did little sounds make you jump so much?

 

“I didn’t know you had friends over, Nepeta?”

 

You feel Nepeta stand up from her spot on the couch. “Yes, Meulin, this is Terezi. She’s just over for a little bit.”

 

You force a smile and try looking in the direct that Meulin is standing. “A pleasure to meet you.”

 

“You too… Terezi, is it?”

 

“Yeah, Terezi,” Nepeta responds for you.

 

Meulin asks, “What have you two been up mew?”

 

Nepeta says in a rush, “You know, we took a walk to soak in the sun. Terezi and I were just getting ready to leave.”

 

You hear a certain sadness in Meulin’s voice. “Were you planning on walking, Nep? It’s started to rain. That would be a terrible walk fur the two of you.”

 

Eager to leave what has become an awkward situation, you suggest, “I can call up Latula or someone to pick me up.”

 

“The phone’s out in the kitchen,” Meulin says.

 

Nepeta guides you to it, but promptly leaves you alone. You’re thankful for that, because part of you isn’t really sure you even want to be around Nepeta any more today. A bit more out of reflex than out of practical necessity, you dial Sollux’s number rather than your home. It rings for a while, but he never picks up. No one from his family picks up either. You wonder where he could be, you could have sworn he was home right now. Sollux has proven to you once again that he is truly unpredictable. You try to dial your own home number, and thankfully, Latula picks up.

 

“Hello, may I ask who’s calling?”

 

“Hey, Latula, it’s me. It’s Terezi.”

 

“Oh, Terezi, hey! What do you need? Where are you, anyways?”

 

“I’m at Nepeta’s house, but I mean. I’d like to be home, now. She was going to walk me home but, you-”

 

“The rain, right. That sucks, Rezi. You want me to come get you?”

 

“Oh, would you?”

 

“Totally.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“See you in a bit!” You hear the click on the other end, signaling that Latula has hung up the phone. 

 

Rather than wait inside with Nepeta, who you’ve clearly made nervous, and Meulin, who’s clearly still mourning, you elect to wait for your sister out on the porch. Naturally, you can’t see the rain, but you’ve always held that there’s something beautiful in it’s mannerisms. It’s what washes off the world’s colors and lets the people start again. In the spirit of kindling something of a new beginning for yourself, you step off the porch and into the rain. It’s not like October rain; Summer showers are warm and kind. Maybe you’ll be able to reach Sollux when you get home, and you can get him to call up Rose and whoever else he thinks should come to the church with you. 

 

When the wind rumbles by quietly, you swear you hear a few notes, short and sweet, all intertwined. Every past present and future love, every friend and every ghost calls out to you for a second. You brush it off as superstition when your sister’s car pulls up. You bid the melodies that dance across Nepeta’s lawn an eerie, final goodbye. You want to be fearless, but sometimes things just scare you and you wish they didn’t so much.

 

“Did you have fun, Terezi?” Latula asks.

You smile and shrug. “Don’t I always?”


	30. 2un2et

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating so infrequently nowadays! It seems on the off chance I ever even have time to write, my dang computer malfunctions!!! But don't worry, this story's almost over- this chapter almost completely wraps up Sollux's sub-plot, and I can get to the climax of the actual story. comment and tell me what you think of the way things turned out for the erisol part, because if you guys don't like it there's still room for me to resolve it in the end. (After all, fanfic should be a place for fun more than it should be a place to exercise my own need to create unsatisfying and dramatic plotlines! lol)

As you came home, you decided that nothing was clearer than what you really needed to tell Eridan. To you, it seemed like it would be so easy in that moment, soaking wet and high on life. You thought that it would be extremely simple to look him in the eyes, and tell him that you wanted nothing to do with him, in fact, that you even thought you hated him a little bit, and wouldn’t mind fighting like you used to do when you were kids. You could be snarky about it, too, and you could make some very good jokes at his expense, and some at your own. You thought about it as your changed your clothes, as you walked past your brother’s room, even as Terezi called you to lay out some plan about the Kurloz case you had almost completely forgotten about. Yet it was only when you dialed his number and heard his voice did something really catch in your throat and make you think twice. Of course you couldn’t do it on the phone like you were planning to, that was cowardly.

 

“Hello?” He asks.

 

“Hey.”

 

He’s annoyed for some reason, probably at the fact that you called him rather than seeking him out in person. “Do you need something?”

 

You swallow, and try to maintain the tone of someone who is calm, and currently has complete control of his life. You are absolutely neither of these things. “I just thought we should set up a time, you know, to maybe… talk about that thing you said we should talk about.”

 

“So what do you propose?”

 

In an attempt to avoid what may turn into some sort of full on confrontation, you blurt out something that you know you will regret later. “I’ll be at the church later tonight.”

 

You hear him scoff over the phone. Sometimes you forget that, at his core, Eridan is actually pretty rude. “Is that an invitation?”

 

“I guess, yeah.”

 

“What time specifically?”

 

You think back to what Terezi said, how you’d all meet around nine. “Half past eight.” You figure, at worst, it can’t take more than twenty minutes. And if he socks you, you’ll have time to clean up the blood, or reduce the swelling. Some time to make up a good lie about it, too. Despite your nature, you resolve not to fight back if he takes a swing at you. You plan to take it and then part, because you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t deserve to be punched one bit.

 

You hear him take a deep breath on the other line, and then you hear what you think must be his father shout something in the background. Maybe it was Cronus. Either way, it makes you thankful for your relatively mild-mannered family. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” He hangs up before you can say anything else to him.

 

Hours pass silently, and you become increasingly aware that the circumstances you are preparing to put yourself in may actually be quite dangerous. As you slip on a navy blue jacket, it occurs to you that Terezi intends to track down a murderer, with only the intention of bringing you and Rose along. You had been so preoccupied with your romantic endeavors that you had somehow removed yourself from reality, as you have a tendency to do when your mania hits. Machu Picchu with Aradia, as little as you’d like to admit it, is a far flung dream, years removed from your present situation. If you actually want to get there, it’s first imperative that you don’t put yourself in some mortal danger. You think back to kissing Aradia, and then going out into the rain, how it felt like every last bit of your unstableness had been washed away. There’s something so cleansing about the rain.

 

So you get the idea to bring the gun.

 

It’s the one your father keeps in that cabinet above the sink, that your mother isn’t supposed to know that you know about. Your father said never use it, only in an emergency. Your father most likely imagined a situation in which a robber came to visit you while he was away, but, well, the term emergency is rather subjective. Of course you don’t want to shoot anybody, but your strong sense of self-preservation draws you to the gun. You manage to position it beneath your belt in a way that it’s barely visible.

 

Then you set out for the church, arriving well before Eridan. In fact, you can’t see anyone when you first get to the church, only the ominous woods and the stained glass windows. The roof where your brother stood last year, the ground on which he fell. You don’t take your hand off the gun until Eridan sits next to you.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

You shake your head and turn to look at him. “You kind of snuck up on me.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

He looks away. “So you finally wanted to tell me something?”

 

“I thought I was supposed to do like a head shake thing. Like you said, to make it simple.”

 

He looks back at you, this time staring. It makes you uneasy. “Well, do it then.”

 

You count in your head the seconds it takes for you to finally do it. You count six, but you think so many things in between that you can’t be sure. Second one, you think about shaking your head no, but fear his reaction. Second two, you’re unsure. Second three, you think you’re in love with him. Second four, you think about shaking your head yes. Second five, you hate him. Second five and a half, you absolutely don’t hate him. Second six, you realize that if you feel anything at all about the guy, you can’t just string him along. So before the seventh agonizing second rolls around, you shake you head so and turn your eyes to the ground.

 

You don’t know what you expect from him, but you don’t expect the silence that lasts for ten seconds. Then you expected him to be loud, and mean. Maybe you expected him to cry, or to punch you, but what he says hurts a lot more than anything you could have expected. “You’re so temporary.”

 

“What?”

 

“Everything you do is fuckin’ temporary. And you’re a coward, you know that? You’re wishy-washy and 100 percent fucked up.”

 

As he’s getting up, you mutter. “Fuck you.”

 

He laughs a bit. “You already did, asshole.” He points to the woods, tauntingly. “And you can’t take that one back, no matter how much I fuckin’ know you wish you could.”

 

You sense yourself turning red. “Don’t say that so loudly, Jesus Christ, we’re by a church.”

 

“I’ll say whatever the hell I want.”

 

Despite your firm resolve to stay calm, you feel your blood boil and you clock him straight in the nose. Red trickles down his nose and onto his lips, and he just looks at you. “Like I’ve never taken a punch before. Gonna take more than that to shut me up, douchebag.”

 

For a split second, you think about pulling out your gun and just shooting him in the face. You snap out of it, of course, but not quickly enough to grant you peace of mind. “Okay, wait, wait.”

 

“I’m waiting.”

 

“I’m sorry for punching you, alright? And I’m sorry for being shitty. And I’m sure you want to punch me, too, so take a few hits. Don’t hold back. Take as many goddamn swings as you want, just don’t start spreading rumours about all this shit.”

 

He moves a little closer, as if seriously considering your offer. “They ain’t rumours if they’re true.”

 

“I’d still prefer if you didn’t spread them, whatever they are.”

 

The first one hits your stomach- doubly painful, as it reminds you of the first time he kissed you. He punches you in the ribs twice. He kicks you hard in each shin, then he kicks you in the groin, making your knees buckle. He doesn’t even go near your face. He leaves you on the ground, but you swear you see him wipe off his face. Maybe it was a tear, maybe it was blood. You don’t want to get too sentimental about it. 

 

Ironically, as you lay on the ground in such awful pain, you finally realize the difference that prevented you and Eridan from ever becoming friends. Whether it was love or it was hate, there was never anything friendly or tender between the two of you because Eridan takes everything so personally. That’s why he never punched you in the face unless it was for a show in the schoolyard, and that’s why he couldn’t see why you wouldn’t want a relationship with him. But maybe for you, personal relationships have always been too much out of convenience, and never enough fueled by passion. But when you think of the softness that’s taken over Aradia’s eyes, and her quiet, persistent hopefulness, you think that passion is something you’ve grown very tired of, and it took the most passionate and vindictive person you know to make you realize that.

 

The skeleton of the gun is carving into your hip. You get up to relieve the pain of the gun, but bring on a whole new wave of internal pain. It feels like bruising. It feels like rejection. It feels like anger. It feels like acceptance.

 

You steady yourself, and look around. You can’t see Rose or Terezi, who, to your understanding, are the only people you’re expecting tonight. You try walking around, allowing yourself to wince because no one is around to see you and ask questions. You rub your side, accidentally making your ribs hurt worse. You doubt he broke one, but you’re faced with a terrible image of having to explain the injury to your doctor in order to get treatment. How much would you leave out? Would you leave out the part where you begged him to hit you to keep everything you’d done with him a secret? How he’d been so loud about it by the church, prompting you to punch him in the first place? Would you tell him how Eridan punched you there to make it extra personal? In an effort to silence your brain, you walk as upright as you can back to the church steps.

 

Feeling your thoughts and your blood speed up again, you begin to grip the gun. Even though the safety is still on, you rub your bandaged finger against the trigger. It hurts to know that he was so nice to you this past week, and to know how lovely it was. It’s especially painful to know that you will never experience something so uniquely wonderful as the kindness of Eridan Ampora ever again. And though you moved on before you truly had ended it, it hurts to know that he, too, will move on. You sniff and wipe your nose with your free hand. You’re a bit ashamed of thinking like that, because although you’ve always considered yourself to be horrendously flawed, you’ve never thought of yourself as possessive or jealous. And although you wish you could live your life submerged in nothing but calmness, turbulence seeks you out and clings to your thoughts. You kick at the dirt. Along with the many other things you’ve realized in the past ten minutes, you’ve realized that a breakup will always hurt, at least a little bit. No matter how justified, how insignificant, and how much more you may love the person you’re leaving them for, there’s always something so poetically depressing about the thought of moving on.

 

You try once more to walk around, this time with a bit more success. You don’t think Eridan broke your rib, but God, do his punches sting. Without the rings they wouldn’t be bad, but he’s always been such an insufferable fan of rings. It’s funny, you remember back to the day when you thought the reflection of light off of his rings looked like miniature sunrises. Now each ring’s shape is going to be imprinted on your side for weeks to come. You don’t recall seeing a single bit of light come from them- of course, you can’t see the moon. It’s covered by the clouds. Sunrise, sunset. And with that, what was perhaps the strangest relationship you’ve had with another human being has come to a definitive end.

You see three people approach from a distance, two of them are hold hands, and the other one links arms with the one in the middle. You extend your hand to wave, the one of the end waves back. Naturally, you had forgotten! You’re here to solve a murder mystery. And that, you shall.


	31. 1NCR3DULOUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically this fic will probably finish after the actual homestuck story is finished, but I'll try and get the last three chapters up sooner than has been customary. It's already kind of unfair to upload the climax of the story in two parts, even though it has to be told from two different perspectives. I don't want to drag this out until may, but it FOR SURE will not run into june. Either way based on the comments I'm going to give erisol more of a resolution so yeah stay tuned for next chapter.

“He looks like he’s in some sort of pain,” Rose whispers to you before letting go of your hand. In it’s place, she hands you her cane which she had been carrying. Nepeta releases your arm as well.

 

“How so?” You ask.

 

Rose replies, “Hunched over. He’s breathing a bit heavily.” She pauses before adding, “It looks like he’s got something over his hands and- what’s he doing? He’s just rubbing his side.”

 

You brush it off and head over to Sollux. “He hurt his hands before today, I think he’ll be fine. Hey, Appleberry!”

 

He only replies when you sit next to him. “Hey, TZ, how’s it going?”

 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, “And uh… and you?”

 

“I’ve never been better.”

 

You turn your head towards him, even though you can’t look at him. You hope he knows you don’t believe him.

 

“What’s Nepeta here for?” He asks casually.

 

You shrug. In fact, you’re not sure you even know, beyond the fact that you got the idea to come in her presence. “Support, I guess.”

 

“Hm.” You feel him shift slowly away, and stand up. He does so painfully. “For that matter, why are we even here?”

 

You don’t know where Rose and Nepeta got off to, but you can’t hear them. No matter, you’ve got your cane. “I think the killer’s gonna come back.”

 

“And you’re sure of that?”

 

“I have a hunch that he will.”

 

You hear him laugh a little bit. Laugh, then take a sharp breath. “A hunch, huh?”

 

“My hunches rarely amount to nothing.”

 

You hear him walk around a little bit. You hear the dirt compacted, and the gravel crunch together beneath his feet. He doesn’t go too far, and you’re so glad he doesn’t. Increasingly, you feel as if you don’t want to be left alone. It’s silly, of course, but you’re very afraid that people will leave you forever when they go. You wonder if that’s the same kind of paranoia that Kurloz felt- the kind he wrote about in his diary and told Aranea about. Finally, he sits down on the opposite side of you.

 

“Did you hurt yourself?”

 

“I fell,” he says, absurdly quickly. 

 

You laugh at his clumsiness. “Yeah? Doing what?”

 

“Running home in the rain. “

 

You don’t believe him, but when Roser and Nepeta come to sit down beside you, you decide that it would be a lot more convenient if you pretended that you did. “Klutz.”

 

“So what the hell are we waiting fur?”

 

You roll your eyes. “We’re waiting to see if anyone actually shows up.”

 

Nepeta retorts, “We won’t know if they show up unless we’re inside the furrest.”

 

“Sounds dangerous,” Sollux mutters.

 

“I say we go,” Rose chimes in.

 

You look at her, a little shocked. “Why?”

 

“It’s self-evident. If we’re out here, we’ll never know who’s in there. We should split up.”

 

You bring your cane hard down into the dirt. “Alright, nobody’s going off on their own. I draw the line at that.”

 

“Of course not,” Rose replies, “I say, two people go to the east side of the woods, two to the west, and we have some signal to come together should it be necessary. Sollux, can you make bird sounds?”

 

“Not this again,” you hear him mutter. “I can make normal human sounds, if that would suffice.”

 

“What about a whistle?” You suggest. As much as you dislike the idea of pairing off, it wouldn’t leave you completely alone in the woods. It also would be much more efficient, you have to admit.

 

He begrudgingly agrees.

 

“I think,” you begin, taking charge of your investigation once again, “that Sollux and I should go closer to the murder site, and that Rose and Nepeta should stay near the western 

side of the forest.”

 

Nepeta takes your hand, somewhat inconspicuously, and squeezes it. “That sounds alright.”

 

You don’t want to let go, but you eventually trade her hand for Sollux’s arm. “All things considered,” you say to him, “It’s a lovely night for a walk in the woods.” The cool breeze that brushes gently against your cheeks reminds you of that quiet morning that the two of you found the body. You find the feeling to be eerie.

 

“Can you see the cherry trees yet?” You whisper after a while. That’s when you know you’re close to creek- you’ll find the cherry trees.

 

He answers at full volume, “Not yet, no.”

 

There’s an unmistakable rustle of leaves. “Did you hear that?” You ask.

 

Sollux says no, but grips your arm slightly tighter.

 

You decide to test something. “I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to leave.”

 

He laughs. “Why would I want to leave something as exciting as this?”

 

You like it when Sollux is happy, you really do, but sometimes he gets in these weird moods. At times, his logical thinking stops and there seems to be a sort of elevated air of impulsivity and dangerous optimism that surrounds him. Of course you’d sort of noticed it beginning over the last few days, but it had come in waves and he seemed fine by the church. Maybe the excitement was getting to him. You fear that if the two of you keep going, he’ll end up with something worse than hurt ribs and sliced up hands, but of course, you also fear that if you leave you’ll never end up catching the killer. Your deep dedication for justice compels you to move forward. You manage to convince yourself that he’ll calm down soon enough.

 

Yet you hear the leaves rustle again, but you turn to them, fearlessly. Sollux tugs you along. “Here’s your cherry trees.”

 

You hear a twig snap.

 

“You know,” he continues, “these things really are great. They’re fucking beautiful, TZ.” It barely registers in your mind that, in that moment, he lets your arm go. You assume he’s walking towards the cherry trees. “There’s a little fruit on them already. Most of it’s not ripe yet, of course, but it’s beautiful. It’s just so goddamn beautiful.”

 

You hear the leaves rustle once more. So you raise your cane and walk towards the sound. Sollux may be better off at the cherry trees, regardless. You walk about a minute before you feel a tap on the back. It feels like there’s electricity running down your shoulder blade, where their finger landed. You turn around and ask cautiously, “who’s there?” Before they can answer your question of their own accord, you pick up a familiar scent. Strawberries.

 

“Vriska?” You ask angrily, “You have ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

 

You hear her voice about two feet to the left of you. “And what would you do?”

 

You take a swing with your cane and hit something solid. You hear her shriek. “Christ, Terezi!”

 

“What are you doing here?” You practically yell.

 

She heaves, “Not so loud sis, there’s a killer in these woods, isn’t there?”

 

You knee her in the gut, and she buckles. “Okay!, okay!” You hear her shuffle away. “I’m not your goddamn murderer or whatever you think I am. I- I came here to meet someone. Well, I did initially.”

 

You lower your cane a little bit. “Likely story. What kind of idiot has a rendezvous in the middle of the woods?”

 

Her breathing is heavy, and despite the fact that she currently looks to you like a murderer, you feel bad for hitting her so hard. “I wasn’t supposed to meet him in the middle of the woods. I was supposed to meet him by the side of the church then… well then I saw you.”

 

“You… you followed me?” You ask in disbelief. Whatever you do, you just can’t get rid of Vriska Serket. You can’t get rid of her memory, her smell, her presence. She is always there, and to some degree, she will always control a part of you. You raise your cane again, defensively. “You never told me how you got that shiner of yours.”

 

“Oh, come on, Terezi, like that even means anything! All of your stupid evidence, it’s all circumstantial! Someone so batshit crazy about the law like you must realize that!”

 

You bring your cane into her ribs. She gasps.

 

“Fuck! Okay, you know what? You crazy bitch, you know what? Tavros fucking Nitram gave it to me! You see why I didn’t want to tell you that, hm?”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah. The night he died I snuck out and visited him. He wasn’t expecting me at his window, and he sat up and punched me. I didn’t expect him to you know, punch me,” she stops a moment to gasp, then she continues “so I didn’t dodge it. It just came right for my eye and that was that.”

 

“You and Tavros are-”

 

“Yeah.”

 

You rest your cane completely at your side. All of your feelings are at once overcome by age-old jealousy. “Why him?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says with a smirk dripping from each word, “I like him.”

 

“Then-” you step a little closer. “Then why did you follow me?”

 

She speaks a bit more evenly. “I thought we had some unfinished business together.”

 

You purse your lips. “Just because I never forgave you doesn’t mean it’s unfinished.”

 

“I never told you thank you. And I never told you… I never let you know you were the best friend I ever had. And whatever you say to me next, I want you to know that I miss you everyday.”

 

You stare up towards the sky for a while. A very long time. You couldn’t ever say how long you let your head stay tilted towards the sky, because it feels like an eternity of imagining just how the stars looks. “Vriska, tell me about the stars.”

 

“Haven’t you asked me that before?”

 

“Of course I have. Do you remember what you told me?”

 

She contemplates for a moment, perhaps knowing that if she answers right you’d forgive her then and there. After a moment, she gives up. “I couldn’t tell you, Terezi.”

 

“You said they looked like hope.”

 

“I think I remember that.”

 

You plant your cane on the ground. “Can you tell me what you meant by that?”

 

Again, she takes a minute to think. “They’re distant, strange little things. You can never touch one, of course, but they always come back, regardless. They come back every night. I- I think that’s what I meant by it.”

 

You nod your head. “And you know, when I asked you to run away, I meant it? I really did.”

 

“I didn’t know that.”

 

You nod once again. “I think that there’s no more unfinished business left. At least I don’t have any more. Now I’ve got a murder to solve. Goodbye, Vriska.” You think that maybe, yes, she would let you kiss her. Maybe she would. But you don’t. You simply take your cane and try to make your way back to the creek. You hear her run in the opposite direction.

 

If only you knew which way to go. Of course you couldn’t have sacrificed enough pride to ask Vriska to guide you back to the cherry trees, but after a moment you realize that you absolutely should have. Whatever Sollux is doing, it can’t be good. You just hope he hasn’t wandered off from the cherry trees. You try to whistle and receive no response. You reprimand yourself for wandering off without Sollux, as if you didn’t need him and his working eyes. You also think briefly of Nepeta, whose steady arm may well have helped you through anything. You think about how you forgot her entirely the minute you heard Vriska speak.

Yet all of your thoughts, your fears, your hopes, your regrets, you forget immediately upon hearing the scream. You forget everything but how to run and how to pray.


	32. C0l0rs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter of the fic, and the last two chapters will also probably hit 3000 words. With that, I would like to write out a few thoughts about the chapter and fic as a whole in the a/n. Nothing extremely important, I wouldn't blame you for skipping right to the story.  
> \- *spoiler* this is where the major character death tag comes in, and the graphic violence. Just a warning  
> \- As far as comments are concerned, I absolutely love reading them and you all have been super nice. Like really, they give me a huge confidence boost. However, I only really reply to the ones that pose direct, answerable questions. I don't really know what the protocol is for answering comments, so I just... don't, I guess. Sorry for seeming rude, but I'm definitely not ignoring them and I really appreciate them.  
> \- I realized that most of you found this in the erisol tag, or were prompted to click on it because of the promise of erisol. To confess, I never intended it to play as big of a role as it turned out to play in this story. But, as per the request of several comments and, well, common decency, I did attempt to resolve it as best I could. I hope the way I did it wasn't disappointing  
> -Lastly, a word on character and ooc-ness: I tried my best to respectfully and accurately portray solluxs bipolar disorder (especially manic episodes) within this story, because sometimes I see it glossed over. That's what I was going for, at the very least. I also see Gamzee either portrayed as a completely benign sweetheart, a ruthless villain, or someone who's too comically stoned to know what's going on half of the time. I may not have truly gotten his canon characterization spot-on, but I tried my best to show my interpretation as the fucked-up product from a completely fucked-up environment, not good nor truly evil. I don't think it worked out perfectly, but I suppose it works for this story.
> 
> Anyways, that was an awful little ramble. I won't do it again.

There’s a part of you that intrinsically believes that the scream must be Terezi, and a part of you that believes it was most definitely something else. However, the largest part of you cannot even quite place where it came from, because it cannot quite place where you are, or even who you are. It is a part of you that cannot currently process fear. You are invincible, you are invincible.

 

The cherry trees, God the cherry trees are so beautiful in the Summer! How could Terezi have left you alone with them? Perhaps a better question is why you let go of her and enabled the blind girl to go off on her own, but that question doesn’t even seem to occur to you. Of course it doesn’t, you’re invincible! You’re in love, you’re without doubts, without flaws. You feel completely, utterly, and dangerously free. So it follows, logically, that you have to find the killer.

 

Yes, you! Who else?

 

You run your right index finger over the trigger of your father’s gun, still tucked safely into your pants. You are mildly aware of the cuts closing on your hands and the bruises forming down your sides, but at the same time, you are impervious to them. You are both hyper-aware and blissfully unaware. You figure you could take a few more hits, more hits than Terezi or Rose or Nepeta who came for whatever fucking reason. You could take those hits alright, if the killer could even catch you! All those names run through your head from your suspect list, Cronus Ampora who got everything right but the time and place, Meenah Peixes who never told you a thing, Kurloz’s own father who was terrible to him, but never could have killed him. You figure it doesn’t even matter who did it, because you could take a few punches from any of them. It seems as if all that private-eye shit that Terezi put you up to didn’t really matter at all, because it came down to a scream, a gun, and you. Doesn’t everything seem to come back to you in the end?

 

West, or left, whatever direction is to your left- that’s where your disjointed brain eventually manages to place the ghost of a scream. So you move towards it, left hand out, right hand on the gun. Your left hand hits the branches, and your brain is overcome with such an uncharacteristic sense of confidence. You felt it a bit when you went to see Eridan that day, more when you went to see Aradia, and now you feel it more than you think you ever have. You feel it when you need it most, when you’re off to catch a killer.

 

You feel like you’re getting close when you hear the rustling leaves. At first, the sounds are few, but you follow them until they’re constant. “Well?” You ask expectantly, “Don’t be a fucking coward about it! Come out and fight me!”

 

“Fight you? Why the motherfuck would I ever want to fight you, Solbro?”

 

“Holy shit,” you breathe. Shakily, you ask one more time, “Gamzee? Come out so I can see you. It’s dangerous out here.”

 

You hear Gamzee laugh. Of course, it’s how he always sounds, but layered against a haunted woods it sounds eerie. The worst part is, you don’t even have the good sense to be scared about it. “It’s not dangerous here. The mirthful messiahs are watching over this wicked place.”

 

He’s high or something, obviously. Or maybe he’s not, because you realize that you don’t really know what Gamzee’s like when he’s not high. You wouldn’t know it if you saw it. Apart from that, you don’t know how the hell you can talk him down from whatever he’s on when you, yourself feel like thousands of insects are flying around in your brain. “Of course they, uh. Of course they are, Gamzee. Come out where I can see you.”

 

Once he creeps out of the shadows, you do your best to remain looking confident. Of course, you really are confident, but the sight of blood dripping from a pocket knife is hard to ignore. You could take a punch. You could take a guy with a knife. You could definitely take a guy who unwittingly brought a knife to a gunfight. The only thing you struggle with is what would happen to you after you initiate the fight. You hope you can figure out a way to avoid it all together.

 

Yet your brain is going so fast that you can’t think like you normally can! You’re usually full of solutions and practicality, but you’re thinking in terms of instinct. Flight or fight, Sollux? You decide, hand resting firmly on your right side, to talk. “Tell me about the mirthful messiahs, why don’t you?”

 

“You’re telling me you don’t already know?”

 

You swallow. “I’d love to learn.”

 

A half-smile creeps onto his lips. “They work motherfucking miracles, brother. Everything you see here, it’s all them.”

 

Like hell mirthful messiahs are even a real thing that people besides Gamzee Makara talk about. To you, they seem about as valid as any all-powerful deity, which is to say, not at all. However, unlike the time-tested Gods of Christianity, Hinduism, Islam and whatever-the-fuck-ism, the mirthful messiahs seem to be a thing that this guy completely concocted from his half-baked head. You shudder at the thought that you, too, might lapse into utter insanity if you had nothing to do all day but stare out of a sad, open window. You spout out a wall of words in record time. “That sounds lovely Gamzee, it really does. No, not lovely, it sounds motherfucking miraculous. Isn’t that what you call them? It’s miraculous, it seems, all the things that the mirthful messiahs have done for us. Especially in this special set of woods, yes, I do feel them watching over us. Brother, it’s intense as all hell up in these woods. Intense as all hell. Yet I do have a question, if you wouldn’t mind telling me, yes, would you mind telling me about the knife?” A drop of crimson blood falls into the ground below. It’s almost too dark, and you’re almost too far gone, but you manage to spare a minute to watch it soak quietly into the soil. It’s as if the original owner hadn’t been stabbed to put it there, whoever that owner may be. Or, you think with a shudder, may have been. Perhaps the drop of blood, just like anything else, has a mind of it’s own, and a purpose independent from it’s origins.

 

“Protection,” he says simply.

 

“Against what?”

 

He closes his eyes. “Non-believers.”

 

It took someone feeling as reckless as you to get the information out of Gamzee without breaking a sweat, that much is clear. Yet the minute he says nonbelievers, well, that’s when it all goes to shit. At this point, anyone put in your place would know to bring it out of him calmly, continue asking nervous questions in accordance with your habit. But, well, long-term bouts of tact and emotional stability have never truly been your strongsuit. “It was you, wasn’t it? You carved up your own fucking brother with a knife like that! Gamzee, I can’t-” You look at him desperately. “I can’t believe you’d do that over your fake fucking gods or whatever the hell they are! Messiahs or something, god damnit.”

 

You don’t know if you expected a tearful confession out of him or something, but he runs at you with the knife. You dodge it at first, then raise your hands up as guard. It’s like fighting Eridan Ampora, you think, just like Eridan. 

 

Except there’s nothing personal about this. This time, the other guy wants you dead.

 

He throws a punch, and you duck. You manage to plant one on his chin. He delivers one on your cheek. You didn’t think Gamzee Makara had it in him to punch that hard. You would have never guessed it in your life. Of course, you can take a few punches; Gamzee doesn’t wear rings.

 

The two of you exchange a few more punches here and there. You dodge most of the ones he throws, but the ones he land sting like hell. He catches most of yours on his face or his ribs, but they don’t even seem to phase him. It seems as if there’s a force that’s actively numbing his pain. If you weren’t fucked up yourself, you’d find it terrifying. Now, you find it a but exhilarating. Of course, that’s when he starts to swing at you with the knife, and you learn the hard way that you ought to be a little more cautious. Right across the left shoulder, and damn, you feel that one.

 

You shove him away and attempt to run, but he jumps at you. You can punch like hell, sure, but it doesn’t take much strength to throw good punches. Principally, good punches require speed, good technique, and a will to really inflict some damage. Unfortunately for you, wrestling does not often work the same way, and you find yourself pinned to the ground in a matter of minutes with a knife looming over you. A drop of someone else’s blood falls onto your cheek.

 

There’s nothing about this moment for him to savor, so he tries going right for your throat without uttering a word. With your left hand, you manage to grab his wrist and stop the knife for a little bit. He doesn’t hurt you, but he keeps pressing down, and you know that eventually he’ll win. He’s just stronger. His legs are pinning down your legs and right arm, while his left hand is pinning down your left shoulder as much as it can. There is absolutely no way you can get out of this.

 

Unless you can get to the gun.

 

You start to flail as much as you can, mostly because it’s distracting. When he loosens up his right knee to hold down your legs, you reach for it, and grab it. In one swift, impulsive motion, the safety is off, the barrel is flushed with his forehead, and your finger is on the trigger. “Get off,” you hiss as a warning.

 

He plunges the knife shallowly into your right eye, like he thought you wouldn’t do it. Of course he thought you wouldn’t. You’re Sollux Captor, infamous for never following through with a damn thing. But this time, you do.

 

Boom.

 

His body goes limp after a minute, but it takes more time than that for you to gather the strength and push it off you. It takes you three minutes, at least. You don’t see why there ought to be any sort of urgency. With Kurloz’s killer dead, you’re probably the most dangerous person in the woods. The thought sends a shiver up your spine. You killed someone. When you close your left eye, all you see is blood. You killed someone, it’s welling up in your eye, you’ll go blind, you killed someone, in cold blood, self defense, if you could’ve gathered the strength in your pathetic fucking body to shove the guy off of you instead of shooting him, but you killed him. You shove the gun back into the side of your pants, but you can’t manage to stand up. You’re shaking like a leaf, because yes, it was self-defense, but you killed someone who probably didn’t even know what he was doing to you.

 

“Get up,” you hear someone demand. You try to gather the strength to do so, but he pulls you up before you can. “I heard the shot,” he continues, “Jesus Christ, Sol, you really thought this vigilante shit was a good fuckin’ idea? This is a mess. Sollux Captor, you’ve gotten yourself into a right fuckin’ mess.”

 

You forgot how close Eridan lives to the woods, so of course he heard the shot. He heard the shot. People heard the shot, they heard you shoot another human being. When you realize that, the momentary grief you felt is pushed out by panic. “God, look at your shoulder.”

 

You take your hand off your right eye to shove him away. You don’t want him meddling with the cut on your shoulder. Of course, you seem to have forgotten the current state of your eye.

 

With your good eye, you see Eridan’s face turn from annoyed to worried. “Fuck, Sol, what in God’s name happened to your eye?” He moves closer, but you jerk away. “Stop, just- just let me!” He wipes away some of the blood with his sleeve, causing you to wince. “You almost died, didn’t you?”

 

You shrug. “I could’ve taken a few more hits.”

 

You don’t know what you expect. Maybe you thought he’d punch you again, but he just mutters. “Red an’ blue.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your eyes, fuckwad. They’re red an’ blue now. You got stabbed in the brown one.”

 

Unaware of what seems like everything, you start shaking. “If you heard, that means other people heard. We’ve gotta clean this up or something.”

 

He nods to the body. “I think we can leave that there, but we should start with cleanin’ you up, or somethin’. The river’s close.” He extends his arm.

 

“What’s the for?”

 

“You’re practically blind, now.”

 

It’s true, of course, that you still have your one good eye, if you could even call it that. Even with your thick glasses, your right eye was always much stronger. But your glasses flew off sometime during your fight, and you can’t seem to see them anywhere. Your vision is a little too hazy right now for anything of the sort. So, like Terezi would, or like some ironically blind prophet, you slide your arm into the crook of his and follow him to the river.

 

“Why didn’t your idiot brother come down with you? Or your dad?”

 

“Cronus wasn’t even home. Dad was sleepin’ already, thank goodness.”

 

Thank goodness, that makes you smirk. Apparently the situation is no longer critical enough to use the Lord’s name in vain.

 

“Are we, uh, are we alright?” You stumble over the words, but it’s impossible for you to leave them unsaid.

 

He sighs and tugs you along. “I don’t really know.”

 

“You’ve got to know if you came out here just to help me.”

 

“Who says I came here to help your sorry ass?”

 

“Well, that’s what you’re doing now. Helping me.”

 

He takes a moment, presumably to think. You can’t see him all that well, and that makes you really nervous. You’re used to relying almost completely on your shitty sight, but that’s been abruptly taken away from you, replaced only with the hazy shapes and colors you can make out with your left eye. Ironically, you think you finally understand Terezi’s fixation with color. You can’t quite see trees and plants and water, but you can see brown and blue and green and red. You can see the red best of all, of course. The red slowly dripping down your arm, the red on Eridan’s lips, the red on his shirt, and the red behind every single word he speaks to you. Finally, he says, “It never could’ve worked.” After you don’t reply for a minute, he continues. “Society’s just not open to it, I guess. Not yet, anyhow. An’ there would’ve been hell from anyone who found out, like if my fuckin’ dad found out, you know, there would’ve been the beatin’ of a lifetime waitin’ for me. Literally, I’d be fuckin’ dead, I’d-”

 

“I’m still in love with Aradia,” you muse, almost breathlessly. It’s as if you were telling a secret to the wind, nothing else.

 

You hear him take a slow, deep, breath. “Yeah. That too.”

 

“I think,” you say tactlessly, “that she still loves me, too. Somewhere inside, I’m sure of it. I’m gonna try and make it work with us, I really am.”

 

You suppose that you’re at the river, because he pushes you down by the shore, a bit more roughly than is truly warranted. “I wish you the best of all fuckin’ luck, Sollux.” He splashes water onto the cut on your arm, and it stings like nothing you’ve ever felt. He might as well have been rubbing salt in it. He doesn’t comment when you flinch, and moves onto your eye. “Red and blue,” you hear him mutter again, “like polar opposites.”

 

“I suppose they are.”

 

He laughs coldly and breathlessly. “It fits you.”

 

“What does that mean?” You ask, emotionlessly. You’re not even insulted, even though he hit on a sensitive topic. All of your remaining energy is being channelled towards nervousness, leaving none to be insulted. Above all things, you don’t want to start another fight.

 

“It’s just like you. One day you’re dead-set on cuttin’ open your own hand and blowin’ a guy in the woods-” he stops for a minute to see if you’re going to cut him off there like you did in front of the church, but you don’t say a thing. What is there to be protected from when you remain the most dangerous person in the woods? He continues, hesitantly, “and the next you can’t muster up the strength to leave your own damn bed. Red and blue. You’re red an’ blue.”

 

You feel the sudden pressure of something wrapping around the cut on your arm. “What the hell is that?”

 

“My scarf. Be thankful, asshole.”

 

“I am, I am. You know what, Ampora? I’m more than thankful. I’m fucking honored to have something as sacred as a scarf that touched your very neck being wrapped around my arm. I’m almost pissing myself about it right now.”

 

“You’re really gonna start this now?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

“You just fuckin’ killed a guy and you’re ready to start one of those petty arguments again?”

 

“I don’t know how else I’d know that you and me are still alright.”

 

This time, he laughs without the coldness. For a minute, you hear him shuffle around and rip something, then wrap it around the right part of your head. You take it to be his shirt sleeve. “We were fuckin’ legendary nemeses, weren’t we?”

 

You nod. “I think we still could be, if you’re up for it.”

 

“I don’t know, Sol,” he replies, “you’re awfully sickenin’ to be around. Literally and metaphorically.”

 

You smile, taking that to be a tentative yes. He pulls you to your feet more gently than he pushed you down. “Where to?”

 

“Did you come here with Ter?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then we should find her, shouldn’t we? Get the mess you two assholes left sorted out.”

You nod, and the two of you wordlessly head back west. Instinctively, you lead him towards the ghost of a scream. It was easy to forget your dilemma when Eridan was speaking so calmly to you, but no amount of water in the river could ever wash the blood off your hands. Your guilt, your dread, and your impossible optimism make you shake, yet with something to hold onto, it’s impossible for you to fall.


	33. TH3 GHOSTS WHO S1NG P4RT TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than anticipated  
> *spoiler* major character death part two... yeah im that kind of person sorry

Sightlessly navigating a path through the woods based only on the echo of a scream would generally be hard for you, but the endless stream of adrenaline pumping through your veins makes it almost impossible. It almost seems counterproductive that in the midst of a terrible situation you would be overcome with a sense of intensity and clumsiness. At the very least, though, it makes you fast, and it makes the tree branches that hit you in the face hurt a little less. You suppose you should be feeling around for them with your cane, but you simply do not have the time to go slowly. You are not useless, you repeat to yourself, once out loud. “I am not useless.”

 

When someone grabs you from behind, you send your elbow immediately into their gut. 

 

“Ow!” You hear a small voice gasp.

 

“Fuck, Nepeta, is that you? You startled the hell out of me!”

 

She brings her hand into yours, this time a bit more cautiously. “I’m so sorry, Rezi. I really didn’t mean to! I should’ve been more forthright with my approach, but I didn’t want to make noise and draw attention to us. I guess that backfired, huh?

 

You’re certain that she missed at least two or three cat puns in there, so there must be something extremely off. “Is everything alright?”

 

“I-” she says hesitantly, then stops. “I don’t know. Rose and I heard a scream, and I know we all put our feet down about splitting up, but I just got really worried about finding you. So Rose and I split, but apparently you’re fine. Thank God, oh thank God you’re fine, Terezi! Was it you who screamed?”

 

“No,” you say, quite taken aback.

 

“Do you have any idea about who it could’ve been? It sounded to me like a girl.”

 

Suddenly, you’re overcome by an even stronger sense of dread than you were when you first heard the scream. “Unless Sollux has had a sudden change in pitch, I think it may have been Vriska Serket.”

 

“What? Why is she here?”

 

“I have no clue,” you lie, “but I ran into her, very briefly. I didn’t stay long or anything, but we have to find her, Nepeta. We have to make sure she’s alright. We should find Rose, too. I don’t want her getting hurt by herself.”

 

“I don’t even know where to begin looking.”

 

You nod, and take Nepeta’s arm. “I had been going this way in the direction of the scream. Assuming she hasn’t moved at all, she should be pretty close by, actually.”

 

The two of you continue to traverse silently in the direction of the scream, and perhaps into the wake of impending tragedy. The sense of not knowing makes you feel a bit nauseous. Eventually, your fear is realized.

 

“There you are!” Rose calls, exasperated. “I was worried sick, thank the Lord you’re here. It’s… it’s serious.”

 

Nepeta lightly gasps behind you, and lets go of your arm. You walk aimlessly forward until Rose pulls you down beside her. “What’s going on?” you ask.

 

Rose puts her hand gingerly around your shoulders. “Vriska said she was walking here, trying to find her way back to the church, then someone stabbed her right in the back. It doesn’t look good, Terezi. She’s…. She’s still breathing, if you wanted to say anything.”

 

You lean down close to her ear and whisper, “who was it?”

 

A hand grips your knee, surprisingly hard. Without sight, the feeling of her hand is the only thing you have to go on. It’s the only thing that matters to you. Weakly, she says, “I heard Makara.”

 

“The brute had no right! He had no fucking right to do that to you, Vriska! What, was it for his political mind games? I fucking hate him.”

 

She grips your knee harder. “It was Gamzee, dumbass. Not his dad.”

 

By this point, of course, you can’t stop the tears, so you give in and let yourself cry. “He still had no fucking right! No one did. I don’t care what kind of awful shit you did, Vriska, no one had a right to do this to you.”

 

As her hand weakens, she says, “Shut the fuck up about justice, alright? Make what you’re going to say next,” she flinches, “make it count.”

 

You’re shaking, but you lean down even more than you had been. “I love you,” you say. “I will always love you.” She lets go of your knee, at which you let out a sob.

 

Rose and Nepeta leave you alone for a bit without words. Rose only keeps her arm around your shoulder to remind you that you are not completely alone. Yet without their gentle voices, you begin to hear the ghosts again. You hear the birds echo the voices of those damned to wander to forest for the rest of their afterlives. You don’t want to hear them, but you will never be able to drown them out.

 

Rose tells you quietly, “She hoped that you would come. I’m sure she was glad that you made it here.”

 

“Maybe she’s not dead,” you suggest, “maybe we can get her body out of the woods and they-”

 

Rose stops you. “Terezi, I know you can’t see, but her wound was bad. She bled out remarkably quickly. Even if she had gotten immediate medical help, there was nothing that could have saved her. She cared about you very much, though.”

 

You remember the talk you and Rose had on the steps of the church, about how maybe life didn’t mean much and how that was all okay. Because what better purpose to be on Earth, loving and living and dancing under the stars, than for the fun of it all? Regardless of all of the heartbreak and hardship she put you through, Vriska Serket left red on every inch of your body. She left a beautiful pigment that would never wash off. You loved her, you really did. “I still don’t want to leave her here.”

 

Nepeta chimes in, “We can carry the body out of the woods. She’s not heavy, I think I could handle it on my own.” In your grief, you forgot once again about Nepeta. Selfless, silly, wonderful Nepeta. You think, after all of the terrible things you have lived through, you could learn to find solace in her presence. You could find it in the way she speaks, the way she laughs, the way she tackles you, and the way she holds your hand like you mean something to her. Although Vriska made you feel like you were destined for an immortal sort of greatness, Nepeta makes you feel important just as you are. You think that’s all you should have ever thought to ask for.

 

“Thank you, Nepeta. I just don’t think she should just lay down in the woods,” you say.”

 

Rose removed your hand gently from the body. “You weren’t here when I found her, but she was face down. Before we move her, we have to stop the blood from flowing, unless we want to make a mess. And besides, we don’t want to leave any obvious sort of trail for him to follow.”

 

Yet another thing you had forgotten: she wasn’t just dead, she had been murdered by Gamzee Makara. You move quickly from impossible despair to overwhelming anger. “We have to track him down. We have to bring him to justice.” You continue, “it all makes sense now, doesn’t it, Nepeta? Kurloz was following Gamzee into the woods because he was acting crazy and blasphemous or whatever the hell that wingnut called him, so Gamzee got spooked and carved the shit out of him! And the reason that giant just let it happen to him? He didn’t have it in him to seriously hurt his little brother. He smashed his hand against the tree, but it proved to be too much for him. God, it was right in front of us, and we overlooked all of the details that were important! We focused on the stupid ones, and then we focused on the stupid ones.” The tears begin, once again, to fall like rain against your cheeks. “We could’ve prevented this.”

 

This time, it’s Nepeta that comes over to calm you. Rose says, “Sometimes, we berate ourselves for things we should have seen coming because they seem obvious in hindsight. But in truth, they’re only obvious because we already know them. You know, we all got in a little bit over our heads with this mystery thing. But, well, I think we all did the best that we were capable of. I think you, especially, Terezi, did the very best that you were capable of.” She adds at the end, almost bitterly, “You found the killer, didn’t you?”

 

“I found him, but not before his knife found it’s way into her back!” After a moment of realization, you say, “We need to find Sollux. He’s… I don’t want him to get into some sort of encounter with Gamzee and add himself to the corpse pile.” You think, briefly, of mentioning Tavros, but there’s no chance he’d go into the woods alone at night. He’s probably just waiting by the side of the church still. Although the thought seems sad to you, it’s not life threatening. And unlike Sollux, he’d probably have the good sense to flee from any dangerous looking situation pretty quickly. He’s been fast ever since his legs healed up.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good course of action,” Nepeta says as she lets you go. You realize that she’s gone to help Rose stop the bleeding. You stay put. Even if you could be of any help, you don’t think you’d be able to stomach it. Once the two finish suppressing the bleeding, you feel Rose come up beside you. Nepeta, presumably, is carrying the body. That’s when you hear the gunshot. And again, without regard for your own safety or for the other people in your party, you begin to run. You’re only vaguely aware of Rose behind you.


	34. An Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than a year later and it's finally done! Wow! Thanks for sticking around this long, comments always appreciated. Since I'm not that into Homestuck anymore, I don't think I'll be writing a long fic again, but maybe some shippy one shots in the following weeks? Anyways, thanks so much :)

When you and Eridan return to the scene of the crime, it seems to be just a little bit too late. You are not greeted by one dead body, but by what seems to be a crowd. It sounds like a crowd, anyways. Despite the fact that you can’t see the details of each individual form, you can see their colors and blurry shapes. You can’t see them, but rather only sense their presence. You begin to panic, wondering what they may have found to incriminate you. You think about running, but Eridan does not move back. In fact, he begins to pull you forward.

 

You hear a voice you place as Terezi’s. You can’t tell if she’s crying for real, or spinning her lie through crocodile tears. Knowing her, you would guess the latter. “I-I don’t know what happened! Officer, it just happened so quickly! He just came out of nowhere and we-”

 

“You there, boy!”

 

You try looking around to place the source of the sound, wondering if the shout was directed towards you. They must have found out.

 

“Yes, you, boy, come here!”

 

Just as you are preparing to answer, Eridan seems to do it for you. “What?”

 

“Don’t you ‘what’ me, fucking Ampora boy.” You see a massive presence come towards you, then feel Eridan’s arm yanked out from yours. As he is forced forwards, you try your best to fade backwards. You attempt to become one with the forest of ghosts. “Did you fucking kill him?”

 

“N-no! Jesus Christ, no!”

 

“I know your type, boy. Just like your brother and your father. You’re a slimy motherfucking liar.” In all the excitement of the investigation, you had forgotten about the world far beyond it. In particular, you had forgotten about Makara and Dualscar’s political rivalry. Of course, with two dead kids wrapped up in some murderous scandal, Makara would be inclined to pin it on any Ampora kid he could find. Of course, the whole scam may have worked better with the one who could even plausibly a murderer.

 

“Why would I be lying? Sir, I don’t understand- ow shit, let me go!”

 

You feel someone else- someone smaller- grab your arm. It’s not gentle. It hurts when she grabs you, like only Terezi could make it. She puts her mouth right on your ear and whispers, “Where’s the gun?”

 

You breathe out. “I still have it.”

 

Again, you hear Makara’s terrifying and desperate rage. “What’s a punk like you doing out in the woods at night? Where’s your fucking gun?”

 

“I- I don’t have a gun! And I- hell- I just heard the shot like everyone else! I didn’t even see him until now.”

 

“Don’t fucking lie to me, boy. Don’t motherfucking lie to me!”

 

Terezi’s whispers, “Give me the fucking gun.”

 

“They’ll see us.”

 

“They’re distracted.”

 

You hear a new, female voice say, “Makara, get off him. Or at least get your hands off his throat for God’s sake. We don’t need a third dead kid tonight.”

 

“Christ, Condie, you’re taking the fucking liar’s side?”

 

“Third?” you whisper, “Who’s the second?”

 

Terezi takes a sharp breath in. “He stabbed Vriska Serket. I think- I think she was in his way.”

 

“In his way?” you say, “I don’t even know what he was trying to do. He was just so fucking crazy, TZ.”

 

“That’s why we can make it into a suicide.”

 

As if on cue, you hear Makara yell, “What, Ampora, you’re telling me this boy shot himself? Where’s the fucking gun? Is it in his fucking hand, or did you fucking bury it next to him?”

 

“Sollux-”

 

“Eridan found it downstream. He gave it to me,” you say impulsively.

 

“He gave it to you?” Makara asks quietly. You would feel safer if he had been yelling.

 

You think back to the day where you found his older son murdered in the stream. He gave you a look that felt like quicksand at the time. It felt like a threat, or some sort of warning that one should not meddle in affairs that do not concern him. But perhaps it was a warning of a different nature, slightly less sinister. You decide that it was not a threat, but a plea to let sleeping dogs lie. Although you and Terezi were cocky and incapable of humoring his plea, you hope that he will have mercy. You hope that he will understand that you had to do it. You pull the gun out of your shorts. “For safekeeping. Gamzee must have dropped it in the stream after he. After he shot himself, Mr. Makara.”

 

In the silence, you count the spots of color. The one next to you is Terezi, you’re sure. Then Makara stands in front of your, Eridan off to the side, Connie Peixes behind him. There’s two dead bodies laid out, two small figures kneeling beside them who you think are Rose and Nepeta, what might be the officer standing behind them, and another small figure well off to the side. You can’t even imagine who it is, but it’s definitely not an adult. You wonder if Vriska’s mother even knows yet.

 

You hear Makara exhale deeply. “I suppose he did.” You’re relieved to know that the two of you had what was indeed a sort of understanding. Or maybe, he just appreciated your fucking gall. Either way, this ruthless, horrible man just granted you the biggest favor you ever anticipate receiving. You intend to never ask one of him again. Just one was enough for a lifetime.

 

The presence of the officer begins to move towards you. “I should take the gun back to the station for-”

 

“No,” Makara says flatly, “it was a clear cut suicide, didn’t you hear the kid?”

 

And the sheriff, who’s wrapped around Makara’s finger, says, “Yes, of course. Then I suppose my work here is done. Goodnight to you all.”

 

“You’re going to call Serket?” You hear Peixes ask.

 

“Yes,” says the sheriff.

 

“Tavros, do you have a ride home?” Makara asks. You’re taken aback to learn that the mystery figure was in fact Tavros Nitram. You decide not to ask about it.

 

“I can- I can walk, sir, it’s no trouble. I’m s-s-sorry for everything.”

 

Makara walks over to Tavros. “I’ll give you a ride home.” The two of them leave. You notice that Connie Peixes has also left, without so much as a parting remark.

 

The sheriff looks at the five of you remaining. “Keep together, now. No one wander off. We’re all heading back to the church to sort out who’s who. We’re going to get you all patched up if you need it, and then you’re all going to call your parents and you’re going home.” You wonder if the sheriff knows you shot him, or if he’s stupid. He has to know. No one is that fucking stupid. They just don’t care. For a moment, you think you finally understand everything. It’s the reason why kids are left alone to kill each other at night, why falling out of love is so easy and loving someone is so hard, why your brother jumped off the roof of a church, and why nice kids are drafted for pointless wars. It’s because nobody fucking cares. But if that’s the case, maybe it’s you job to have a little bit of fun while you’re. It’s your job to make it count the best that you can. You begin to reach for Terezi’s arm before your realize that both of you have practically gone blind. You reach for it anyways, if only for the comfort of routine. You can see the four people in front of you well enough to stay on track.

 

“He’s weirdly sentimental, isn’t he?” Terezi asks.

 

“Who?”

 

“Makara.”

 

“I suppose he is, in a way.” You think for a moment. “Are you okay?”

 

“Of course not. And you?”

 

You manage to produce a small laugh. “No, of course not.”

 

“We are all full of secrets now, huh?”

 

“Hasn’t it always been like that?”

 

“There are a lot more now, it feels like. But I feel like there’s always coming back from something like this, at least when the stars are watching.”

 

“The stars?” You ask. You wonder if Terezi has lost her mind, what with stars and ghosts who sing.

 

“Yes, the stars. They’re like hope, Sollux. Always far away and incomprehensible, but always there nonetheless.” She puts your head on your shoulder. “Always watching over us, and always ready to give us another chance.”

 

You crane your head to look up through the trees at the stars. You slightly lift up the piece of clothing that was covering your bloody eye in an attempt to get an honest look. Even through the blood, tragedy, and partial blindness, you feel as if you’re seeing the stars closest to the way that was meant for them to be seen. They are not separate entities, but like small swatches of white and yellow paint that blend together on a black and red canvas. They are like hope. They are like forgiveness.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is going to be a long fic with a slow beginning. If my writing gets too rambly please tell me and I will edit down future chapters.  
> This will get shippy just not for a while. (Erisol first slight hint in chapter 6 lol sorry not sorry)  
> Also apologies for any tech issues in advance because I am a senior citizen in a 14 year olds body.  
> There are a lot of ships and a lot of characters but I only mentioned the main relationships and will tag the main characters as they appear. I don't like it when people spam the tags with every little thing so I won't do that!  
> Thanks for reading, your comments and kudos are really nice to see :)


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